A Good OldFashioned Lynching
by Rhianwen
Summary: When Elli catches her husband of three idyllic years in an indelicate position, the girls of Mineral Town band together in an effort to expose him for what he is. So, how did the doctor get dragged into this mess?
1. Elli

A Good Old-Fashioned Lynching

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Summary: When Elli catches her husband of three idyllic years in an indelicate position, the girls of Mineral Town band together in an effort to expose him for what he is. So, how did the doctor get dragged into this mess?

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Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, and once again, they're probably looking at me funny.

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Chapter 1 – Elli

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Have you ever had one of those days when you spend almost the entire thing wishing vainly that you had stonily ignored your alarm clock and then your husband's kindly teasing insistence that _it's time to get up, Sleepyhead_, in favour of snuggling deeper into your little nest of blankets and pillows?

The kind when the highlight of your day is the delicious piece of apple-cinnamon coffee cake you treated yourself to for breakfast with your morning tea, and everything after that goes steadily downhill?

The kind when, just as everything seems to be looking up, everything gets so much catastrophically worse that you'd just like to curl up in a miserable little ball and take a nap on the floor of whatever building you might be occupying at the time that you finally realize that nothing good can come of being awake, before the bewildered eyes of whatever onlookers might be onlooking?

Yes, thank-you, I am currently learning the full and excruciating meaning of such days.

I thought I was good at disaster; Liam always teases me about being too _excitable_, but the doctor says I have a rare gift for keeping a cool head in a bad situation.

And if this isn't a bad situation, I don't know what is.

I know there are _worse_ situations than coming home to the sight of your house looking like a women's department at a department store had exploded in it, none of which belongs to you, when all you were trying to do in the first place was run home on your lunch break to make sure your husband is eating properly, because he's been looking _so_ tired and pale lately, which is apparently due not to malnutrition, but to overexertion.

I'm in the kitchen of our two-story farmhouse right now, staring in bewilderment at a half-eaten bowl of grapes on the kitchen table, one of Liam's best blazers – a deep wine-red colour that I always try to get him to wear more, because it's the most wonderful colour in the world on him – curled around it like a very unhealthy sort of cat. His shoes – _dress-_shoes, thank-you very much, and polished more immaculately than they were for the wedding – are standing sentinel on either side of the bowl-blazer combination. A pair of dress trousers are draped over the chair he ordinarily occupies, while the other seems to hold a beautiful soft purple silk sundress, tied to the chair with Liam's belt, while a blazer of darker purple, turned inside out with its silky insides spilling all over the place like a fat lady who forgot her corsets, snuggles up to one of Liam's shoes, and a bunched-up pair of black thigh-high stockings peek out of the top of the other.

Bizarre. My husband has apparently been making some very strange friends.

Not that I _object _to my husband having female friends; I think it's only healthy in a marriage for both partners to have opposite-gender friendships. It's a good way to build trust, and reduce the chance of boredom. At least, that's what Grandma tells me. After all, I like to think that I'm still very close friends with both the doctor and Carter, and all us girls are friends with one another's husbands to the point that we can carry on a decent conversation, at the least.

However, there is a very definite line that should be drawn at some point, and while sharing a nice, relaxing lunch is a nice idea, I believe that line comes quite a bit before Liam apparently stood up and tore off all his dining companion's clothes before she could even finish her share of the grapes. And I thought he was so polite!

With the wreckage that the kitchen is in, I'm almost quaking at the thought of further exploration, but this is no time to be a coward.

Resolutely and only feeling a _little_ like my insides are being gripped and twisted by something with an iron fist, I climb the stairs and cringe as I pull open the door to our bedroom.

Eventually, I work up the nerve to open one eye and peek inside a little, fully expecting to see Liam, some gorgeous blonde, the Kappa, and the Harvest Goddess all engaged in group sex on our tasteful blue-and-yellow plaid comforter.

Instead, the bed has been remade a little since the last time I saw it.

Purple satin sheets, if you'll believe it.

Those icky, dull, boring, absolutely gorgeous and elegant white Egyptian cotton ones that Anna had sent in for us for a wedding gift are balled unceremoniously and shoved into a corner.

The whole room reeks of some kind of sandalwood and jasmine and lavender incense that gives me an instant headache and draws tears to my eyes.

Well, of _course_, it's the incense! Why else would any reasonable woman start crying at a time like this?

At this point, I begin to wonder: how many days a week on average does my husband turn our bedroom into some sort of brothel while I'm out at work? I'm almost admiring their restraint, in not hanging new curtains, just to complete the transformation.

My next discovery, upon storming over to the bed, intent upon ripping those purple sheets off and possibly to tiny pieces, makes me choke and gag and nearly pass out at the same time. Draped across the garish dark purple encasing one of our beautiful, soft, snuggly feather pillows is a corset.

Yes, a real, honest-to-goodness, high-class whore house corset. Purple (of course), edged with darker purple lace, black ribbons, even a hint of fur, and those dangly bits to hold up stockings.

Oh; well, that explains the stockings in Liam's shoe. It's a relief, if nothing else, to know that _he_ wasn't the one wearing them.

Forget gagging; I think I might be sick.

Particularly when I notice the jewelery laid out on my dressing table, dark, ornately carved wood and a good-sized oval-shaped mirror – Grandma's wedding gift.

I remember those earrings; he bought them in a little jewelery shop on our last trip to the city when he thought I was busy in a bookstore, and I kept waiting apprehensively for a gift I didn't want in the least; partly because I don't have pierced ears and I thought, annoyed even at the time, that he should have known that, and partly because I don't really like flashy jewelery.

And flashy they are; they're about the size of ping-pong balls, starred with diamonds and amethyst, and shaped like hard, sparkling little flowers.

Truly disgusting.

But the point is, that trip was about five months ago. How long has he been seeing this girl?

Okay, slow down, Elli; before you go screaming through the streets of Mineral Town to cry on Grandma's shoulder, at least find out who she is. Maybe remove her appendix or something.

I haven't spent five years watching the Doctor for nothing.

Although, the Doctor doesn't usually remove them through peoples' noses, while I fully plan to.

I don't know why I've chosen the washroom to begin my search, because aside from that horrid, strong, sickly-sweet flowery perfume that's been permeating my brain since I walked into the house, there's nothing here.

Although, I do find Liam's wedding ring hidden underneath the soap dish.

Now, I've just found out that my husband is undressing women in our kitchen, dragging them half-naked upstairs, and swapping bodily fluids with them in our marital bed, after dressing them in the most disgusting fetish-gear imaginable, and by the look of things, has been doing it for several months now. Given these circumstances, it's a little strange that this new development upsets me more than the rest of it put together.

But what can I say? Regardless of the Doctor's assurances that I'm an extremely level-headed girl, I'm just as capable of illogical behaviour as anyone.

Come to think of it, I haven't seen any of our wedding photo around, either. Does he really need to escape from his life with me that badly?

A quick search of the cabinets downstairs reveal the picture, in its heavy brushed silver frame, along with a few pictures of me that I hate but he insists on keeping on his bedside table, wedged in between the Stolichnaya and the Kahlua. I stare for a minute at the picture of a tanned, muscular young man with long, thick brown hair tied back into a decorous ponytail to go with his decorous tux, his arm around an ecstatic, wedding-gown-clad me, both of us grinning away at the camera.

I really thought he was happy. Three years, and he's been sweet, and silly, and wonderful the whole time. We've spent more time laughing than not, even when we bickered.

_Especially_ when we bickered. It was fun. I know he had fun.

I know _I_ was happy. Up until about an hour ago.

On a whim, I grab the Stoli and have at it.

And then choke uncontrollably as my unseasoned tastebuds and sensitive little tummy are assaulted by the alcohol burn my traumatized little mind is inflicting upon them.

It's at this point that I notice an absolutely gorgeous black leather purse perched proudly on top of the TV, and go to investigate.

Ah. Very interesting.

Her name, according to her driver's license, is Juanita Cunningham.

Five-foot-ten, a hundred and twenty pounds.

And a size 34-D, according to the corset I snuck a quick peek at.

I would love to say that she sounds absolutely, hideously skeletal, but she's probably got the body to rival the Harvest Goddess.

Juanita Cunningham and Liam Ford. Damn it, they even _sound_ cute together!

However. As it is the middle of the day, with all her things currently scattered around my home, logic dictates that she is not far away. Taking another long gulp of the vodka and choking and sputtering yet again, I carefully settle the bottle back exactly where it was, and snatch up Liam's old hammer to settle this the messy way.

Halfway to the barn, I give up and leave the hammer behind.

It's _heavy_, alright? I don't want to exhaust my strength before I get to the good, sound beating.

As I draw closer to the building, the two voices from within, one Liam's and one a woman I've never heard before, grow louder.

Creeping silently up to the door, I peek in the tiny crack they've been left open.

Liam, it seems, is getting around to milking a little early today. It's usually an evening chore, but I guess the stunning dark-haired girl won't be here to help this evening.

Because of course, she's stunning. Gorgeous thick shoulder-length hair, big bright blue eyes, and the amazing figure I've been fearing, although you can barely see it, because she's wearing one of my old dresses.

Well, it's only practical, I suppose; she can't exactly help Liam with the milking in the silk and strappy sandals I found inside.

It's good to know that Liam chooses _smart_ girls to have his little side-flings with.

Right now, she's seated on the milking stool, reaching very carefully and gingerly underneath Daisy, Liam's first cow, if I recall correctly. Liam grins and makes some horrible, disgusting comment about it being his turn next after she's done with the cow, and unable to listen to any more, I take off.

I didn't think I'd drunk that much, but apparently, half a bottle of vodka is enough, because I have very little clear idea where I'm going, and I've reached Mother's Hill before I know it.

I stop to pick some flowers, because Grandma always told me that it's therapeutic when you're feeling down.

I wonder if Grandpa ever took gorgeous women to bed behind her back.

Considering he was almost too shy to tell _her_ he loved her, I doubt it.

I'm seated at the edge of Goddess Peak, inching farther off every second, when Gotz finds me.

And by "finds", I mean "jumps at with a yell and drags forcibly away from the edge".

Now he's yelling at me, saying all sorts of things about how a strong wind could've swept a skinny little thing like me right off, and what was I thinking, and how many more people were going to have to be killed up here before people learned to damn well be careful, and I've about had enough of it.

I shut him up very, very quickly with a stream of profanity that draws a sparkle of grudging admiration to even _his_ jaded, experienced old eye.

Then I proceed, calmly, to explain to him (with only minor slurring) that I've just found out something very bad about my husband, and I am a little upset right at the moment, so if he could kindly not yell at me, I would appreciate it greatly.

Without a word, but with a grim, furious expression that says plenty, he picks me up and starts along the path down the mountain.

I have to admire the man; he barely even stumbles, even with a great load of muscle and terrifying womanly woman like me weighing him down.

I think that might be the alcohol talking.

Either way, I must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next time I open my eyes, he's pounding at the door to the Clinic.

Oh, no...

I forgot about work. Just completely and utterly forgot that the Doctor would be waiting for me. He's going to be furious...

Furious, no; frantic and wild-eyed, hair sticking up in every direction from the way he always drags one hand through it when he's upset, yes.

I wish he'd been angry instead.

"Tim, I'm so sorry," I burble, throwing myself at him and hugging him tightly when he's finished fervently thanking Gotz for bringing me back safely. "I didn't mean to worry you. It hasn't been a great day."

"And that's why you went home to cook your husband lunch and didn't come back?"

Ah. _Now_ the anger is coming through. Tim very, very rarely gets angry like this, but I suppose spending an afternoon looking for his nurse, only to have her show up, unharmed and reeking of alcohol, will do it.

"I can explain."

"I'm waiting."

"Liam is having an affair. I—I got upset. I know it isn't a particularly good explanation..."

I didn't think it was possible, but his expression gets even tighter with anger. When he rests one hand at my shoulder, though, his touch is very gentle.

"I understand," he finally says. "If you'd like to take the rest of the day off--"

"No, that's fine," I break in hurriedly. "I'm ready to work."

"You're half-drunk, and Gotz told me he found you ready to jump off a mountain."

"I wasn't trying to _jump_! I was trying to get a closer look!"

"At what? The ground? Listen, just...go home."

"I can't."

A loud, tense, uncomfortable silence follows as he leads me to the couch in the waiting room.

"Why?"

"She'll still be there."

"Do you think he's insane? He'll have sent her home by _now_; he probably sent her away right after you caught them together."

"Um, I really don't think so," I admit timidly, looking instinctively away. "I didn't really _confront_ them, as such."

"And 'as such' means...?"

"At all."

I really have to feel for him. Even in the middle of all this, I can tell how gut-wrenchingly hard it is for him _not_ to tell me that I'm crazy, that I should have removed Liam's cheating, lying, good-for-nothing skin the second I saw the clothes scattered all over the kitchen.

"Are you planning to do it tonight?"

"Well, that depends."

"On what?" he asks very gently.

"On whether or not Liam admits what happened. This could be a one-time thing." Blatant lie; it's been going on for at least six months. But Tim doesn't have to know that.

Apparently, he knows enough, because he's giving me this horrified, disbelieving look.

"Are you insane?" I don't think that even warrants an answer, Doctor. "Listen, Elli, it isn't my place to get involved, but as a friend...please, don't be stupid."

"You call that _friendly_?"

"No, I call it the truth. Ignoring it and hoping it doesn't happen again is...ridiculous."

"It is not; it's _trust_."

"They're the same thing, if the trust is given to someone who's proved he doesn't deserve it."

I bolt up, already shaking.

"Don't tell me what my husband deserves." I'd like to blame this on the alcohol, but really, I just have this terrible feeling that I'm only trying to hurt someone else, because I'm too selfish to suffer alone. I'm sure righteous anger fits in there somewhere at the fact that my older, wiser boss doesn't even trust me to run my personal life. "You don't know a thing about him. Or about us."

He looks like he's talking himself out of saying something else, so I save him the trouble and continue.

"Look, maybe I'll take that offer after all. I can go see Grandma for a while."

Looking tired and, in this light, almost old, he nods, then stands and starts back to his office.

A needling sensation of guilt hits me, and at this point, just ticks me off even more, to the point that I storm out of the Clinic, nevertheless making sure to close the door quietly behind me, because I know he hates pounding and slamming, and old habits die hard.

Now, to Grandma's, for a little bit of sensitivity and cuddling.

But not, apparently, until an angry brown-and-blonde-and-purple streak named Karen is finished with me.

Whimper...

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End Notes: Hmm, I think this one is going to be fun to write. Depressing as heck, but fun. I'm planning on doing chapters from all five girls' perspectives, because I love the idea of them being this tightly-knit little group that'll do anything for each other. I'm sure that eventually, little bits of Doctor/Elli are going to make their way in there, and I'm already planning huge heaping loads of Karen/Rick, and very likely the rest of the default pairings, but I'm going to try not to go overboard on that, because the whole point of the story would probably be lost.


	2. Karen

Chapter 2 – Karen

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Wow. I feel like the biggest moron on earth right now.

I've spent most of the day complaining that my life isn't worth living right now, because the bar is being closed every night for repairs for the rest of the season. And since the inn doesn't serve wine during the day, there goes not only my source of wine, but the only place Rick and I can really go to talk later than nine in the evening without waking someone up if we get a little…argumentative.

Which we do. Constantly. That's my third-favourite thing about Rick: he'll argue with me, and he won't back down just because I get mad – he'll just get mad right back. It's fun. We usually get the whole bar at the inn to ourselves that way.

The other two?

He not only _tolerates_ the occasional overindulgence with wine on my part and hauls me home after and then shows up the next morning to help Mom nurse me over the (very) occasional hangover, he'll usually be right along with me, guzzling drink after drink and admit laughingly that he's got a hell of a headache, too.

My favourite thing? The glasses. Say what you want, glasses are hot. I went through a phase about seven years ago, when I swore up and down that I was going to marry Mary. Then it hit me, hey, Rick has glasses, _and _he doesn't suggest every other day that I give up wine and read books instead!

Anyway. Back onto why my life sucked until I was smacked in the gob with the realization that someone had it worse.

Bar is closed. No wine for Karen. Rick suggested this morning that we could pick up a bottle from Duke, and we could go to the pier and drink it.

Romantic, huh? Yeah, Rick stumbles on a good idea every now and again.

But I was in the mood to be ornery, and told him there was no way I was spending my money at Duke's while Duke still owed my father god-knows-how-much for all the crap he's charged up at the Supermarket.

Hey, I know for a fact we're never going to see that money until Harris agrees to turn the blind eye while Mom goes over to the Winery with a crowbar and threatens Duke's kneecaps until he pays it back.

So, Rick says that's fine, it isn't my money, it's his money, because was buying the wine anyway since I'd been having a bad week, and I called him an idiot and said he'd missed the point by a mile.

He said that it kind of surprised him that I wouldn't drink Duke's wine, because who the heck did I think supplied the Inn?

So, I did what any reasonable girl in an Apocalyptically bad mood would do: I advised him to, as Elli or Mary would put it, go do impolite things with himself.

Long story short, he went home mad, because he likes arguing, but every guy has his limits, I guess. He'll be back later, he'll probably be cooled off by the time he gets home and fret that he can't come back to make up, but it still kind of sucks for now.

So, I'm moping around the store, stewing in my own bad luck, when I see Elli bolting down the street, wobbling a little bit, and looking like she's been crying.

Now, understand something: Elli Does Not Cry in Public.

She was twelve years old when they got the call about her parents and the reckless driver, and she just stood there through the whole funeral with this blank look on her face. Mom and Dad dragged her home with us to spend the night, and she just sat there, staring at a wall until I got mad at myself for not being able to cheer her up and mad at her for making me feel guilty, and went to sleep.

When I woke up at about three and staggered to the bathroom, I found her in the kitchen sobbing like something was trying to tear her heart out through her eyes. We're talking couldn't-speak-coherently-could-barely-get-up crying. Scared the shit out of me. I just kept trying to calm her down, hugged her, cuddled her like a little baby, and then I went for the liquor cabinet.

No sweet, delicate _wine_ for a situation like this – I cracked open Dad's whiskey. I was just about to pour it down her throat when Mom and her Angry-Eye of Doom came sailing into the room.

She was about to read me the riot act for such irresponsible behaviour, when she noticed all the tears in the nearby vicinity, from both of us by this point, because seeing your friend having a nervous breakdown is a bit upsetting when you're twelve.

So, Mom broke down too, and I ended up in a kitchen with two hysterical people. But at least the whiskey was out, so I poured Mom a glass, and it helped her calm down enough that she was able to stop me with an unnaturally strong hand when I went to pour myself some, too.

This has been about...the third time I've seen her cry. The fourth time, if you count her wedding, but that was different.

So, I'm watching her from the window, trying to decide whether to go out and get her, or whether to boot it over to the clinic to bitch out the doctor for upsetting her.

Eventually my common sense gets the better of my desire to yell at someone, and I'm dragging her inside by the sleeve before she knows what's happening.

"Oh, hi, Karen," she smiles weakly when she's done yelping things like"Help! Police!" and "Unhand me, you fiend!" and "Aliens DO exist! Stu was right!"

Okay, so I made the last one up.

And the first two.

I think she was just kind of yelping.

"Hey, kiddo. So, I couldn't help but notice that you've been dribbling tears from the door of the Clinic, down the street. You wanna tell me what's going on?"

"No."

I grit my teeth. I can admire her honesty, but I have my mother's reputation to live up to, and _no one _talks to my mother like that if they expect to walk away alive.

But I'll forgive her this time, because the revelation that she's been drinking hits me along with the very strong scent of alcohol hanging on her breath.

Tell you the truth, I'm too stunned to do a lot else. Elli. Getting drunk. Next thing you know, Mary'll be holding a book-burning in Rose Square.

Hell, I'd buy tickets.

"Okay, you brat, let me rephrase. Tell me what happened, before I go kidnap your cat."

She winces.

"It doesn't matter."

"If you're upset enough to cry like this, it matters. Anyone I have to go beat up for you? The doctor?"

"Tim?" she asks, surprised. "No, _he_ didn't do anything."

"So who did?"

She murmurs something very quietly, and I lean closer.

"Say again?"

"Liam," she repeats, annoyed.

"Okay, what about Liam?"

"He's a cheating, lying, unfaithful, manipulative…sweet, wonderful man and I love him dearly," she finishes on a sob, throwing herself at me.

Before I can respond to this with more than an astonished gape and a few awkward pats to the back of her head, the door leading back into the store swings open, and Mom materializes, her smile dying on her lips when she notices the tears streaking down Elli's cheeks and the big wet spot on my shoulder.

"Karen," she growls forebodingly. "What did you do?"

Oh, thanks a lot, Mom.

"It wasn't Karen, Mrs. Landon," Elli assures her hurriedly, wiping at her eyes. "I'm just having some…trouble with Liam."

Mom morphs from Avenging Angel of Death to Teddy-Bear in less than a second. Seriously; it's scary.

"Oh, sweetie, do you want to talk about it?"

"That's what we were doing, Mom," I huff.

"I-I'd really rather not," Elli confesses softly.

A knowing look comes into Mom's eye, and she offers Elli one of those gorgeous, soft white handkerchiefs Lillia made her last Starry Night, and leads her to the kitchen table, with me following awkwardly in their wake.

I hate it when people take my good deeds away from me.

Mom, by this point, is sighing, mouth set grimly.

"He's having an affair, isn't he?"

Elli, who's just taken the handkerchief, gives a honk of surprise so violent, the tiny white embroidered square goes flying across the room.

"How did you know!"

I choke.

"Whoa, wait a second; he _is_?"

Elli takes on this look like a little girl abandoned in a dark forest, and sort of curls in on herself, her eyes already misting over again.

"Yes, he is."

"With who?" I demand, cupping her chin and forcing her to look up at us.

"How did you find out?" Mom demands, swatting me away.

"I don't know who she is, but her name is Juanita Cunningham. I've never seen her before, but I know she must love purple, because I found her clothes and lingerie and even her bed sheets scattered all over the house when I went home to make something for Liam for lunch," she replies immediately and as mechanically as if she was reciting the multiplication tables.

Mom enfolds her in a sweet, nurturing hug, and I just sort of stand there. Geez, Mom, this is _my_ friend who's having the marital crisis.

"Oh, sweetie, I'm so sorry. I don't imagine you particularly want to talk to him right now, but I think it might be best if you get the divorce papers hammered out as soon as possible."

Elli's turning that unhealthy shade of green she does whenever Stu shows her a bug, and her expression makes Mom pull back and look at her suspiciously.

"There _will_ be divorce papers, won't there?"

Okay, that's it; I have to say something.

"Mom, can we have a minute? I don't think she really needs helpful advice right now. C'mon, El, let's go to the Library."

"Alright," Mom agrees reluctantly, giving Elli one more consoling little pat, and giving me one for good measure. I squeeze her hand gratefully, because I'm really no good with this kind of stuff by myself. "I should get back to help your father anyway. But Elli, promise me that you'll come by whenever you need to talk. We can set up a cot for you in Karen's room for as long as you need. I'm sure she wouldn't mind, right, sweetie?"

"Uh, yeah," I agree vaguely. _Sweetie? _She hasn't called me that in ages. I guess it takes a marriage breaking up before our eyes to make my family realize how much we all mean to each other.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind Mom, I try to pull Elli out of her chair.

"Karen, please," she protests desperately, pulling back, eyes fixed on me, sad and appealing. "I was just going to visit Grandma."

Ah, foolish woman; you forget that I'm not the doctor. Those sweet-innocent-girl charms won't work on me.

Well, not often.

"We're going to the Library," I repeat flatly.

"But who has more 'helpful advice' than Mary?" she asks desperately as I take her arm and lead her firmly to the door.

The back door; I'm such a considerate friend, trying to spare her the experience of traipsing down main street with swollen red eyes and a runny nose.

"We're going to the second floor. C'mon, Elli, no one goes there."

"The doctor does."

"Not today." I look at her sideways as we climb through mud pits behind the houses. "Look, El, I know you're upset right now, I know how much you loved him, but I don't want you to be too hasty here—"

"Karen, I just got through this conversation with the doctor. I love Liam; it isn't past tense, and anyway, I don't think—"

"Whatever Mom says, and whatever Doctor Look-at-Me-I'm-From-the-City-So-I-Know-Everything says, don't rush into divorce papers too soon here."

"—I'm really up to…um, what?"

"Seriously. Once you do it, the whole angry-wife-confronting-the-cheating-husband thing, you've just put a huge limit on your choices."

"I'm so glad you think that, Karen!" she breathes, eyes starry, gripping my shoulders so tightly I can swear I hear something creaking "That's exactly what I was trying to tell the doctor, and he thought I was crazy!"

"There's nothing crazy about it," I tell her firmly, patting her head as she hugs me again. "If you divorce him now, he'll just deny everything. Wait until you've got proof, then sue him for breach of contract. You might as well get out of this sorry mess with some of the bastard's money, if nothing else."

Somehow, I don't think that's what she wanted to hear; I've never seen someone deflate so fast.

"R-right," she sighs, releasing me and following me as I continue down the street. "That's exactly what I meant."

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End Notes: Sigh. Well, that's it. I'm now a Karen-fangirl. Just like everyone else. :)


	3. Mary

Mary

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I love my Library. I love the quiet, the serenity, the smell of the books, the feeling of something in common when someone comes in to look for a book.

I love helping people find the book they'll like best with only a few guidelines, and I love helping people hunt up a specific book, especially if it's one I've read and can talk with them about.

I love the freedom to run it as I like, and the freedom to spend much of the day immersed in a book of my own.

But mostly, it's the quiet.

And that's why, even though I love Karen dearly, whenever she comes to visit, I cringe a little.

It isn't that Karen's loud – usually. It's just that she has a way of spreading commotion wherever she goes.

Today, however, she bursts, ranting, through the door, dragging a tearful Elli with her.

Somehow, I have the feeling they're not here for research purposes.

"Um, good afternoon," I greet hesitantly. "Welcome to the Library. Anything I can help you find?"

"Hi, Mary," Elli sniffles with a weak smile. "I think we're okay for now."

"Yeah; we just needed somewhere quiet," Karen adds. "Elli's not having her best day ever; she just walked in on Liam with another woman."

"Karen!" Elli yelps mournfully. "Do you have to go _telling_ everyone?"

I look back and forth, from one to the other, trying very hard not to feel hurt. I like to consider both of them my friends, even if I'm not quite as close to either of them as they are to one another. We're all three of us the same age, while Ann and Popuri are both a few years younger – not such a big deal now, but something that made quite a difference until just a while ago – and even though they grew up together and were already fast friends when we met, they were very quick to 'adopt' me as a close friend when we moved to Mineral Town when I was twelve.

All of which means that the idea of just being collectively included in the _everyone _that Elli doesn't want Karen to tell about her troubles is stinging a little.

"Come on, Elli, it's Mary," Karen reminds her briskly. "We know it isn't going to go any farther, and we tell her everything else."

As though Karen's words gave her the ability to read my thoughts, Elli gives a despairing little moan.

"Oh, Mary, that's not what I meant! I just thought you might think I was being silly, crying so much over this."

Now, I like to consider myself a calm, cool-headed intellectual, not given to bursts of emotion, and existing far more in the realm of thought than feeling, but at the sight of one of my closest friends for the last twelve years looking so utterly devastated, and the sight of the other looking grimly like she plans to poison Liam's coffee, I dissolve into tears, which sets Karen off, and before I completely know what's happened, we're all hugging and crying, and I have this terrible feeling that Karen just blew her nose in my hair.

"Hey, Mary, sorry I'm late, I got held up at the...uh...should I come back?"

Elli and I try to leap apart at this breathless greeting, trailing off nervously, from the door, but Karen keeps her arms firmly around both of us.

"No, Gray, it's alright," I manage to choke, my smile a little more pained, due to being strangled, than I usually reserve for my boyfriend of a year and a season now. "Um, we'll just be upstairs if you need anything, okay?"

And now he's looking gladder than I _hope_ he's ever been to see me go, and presumably only because three hysterically sobbing young women is one of the top ten worst fears of any young man as generally reticent with his feelings as Gray.

"Okay, you two," I begin in my School-Teacher Voice just as soon as we get to the top of the stairs, "let's establish something before we scare anyone else. Are you sure it's true?"

"Of course we're sure," Karen exclaims, breaking off Elli's attempt to say something. "She walked in on them in bed."

I start to wince, but Elli cuts me off.

"No, I didn't, Karen; I told you, I walked in on their clothes all over the floor . _They_ were out in the barn, milking a cow."

I stare, blankly.

"A cow."

"Yes. And there were mentions of her squeezing _his_...um, udders when she was done with Daisy."

I can feel the disgust in my own stare. Elli returns it sympathetically.

"That's pretty much how I reacted. But that's only because I couldn't drag the hammer all the way to the barn."

"You need to work out more," Karen tells her kindly.

"It's just as well," Elli sighs forlornly, letting Karen drag her down to the floor, right in the corner, and pull her into a snuggle. "The only thing that could make this day any worse is being arrested for murder."

"I think Harris would go easy," I say before I can stop myself, and Karen laughs so loudly I'm sure Dad, cloistered in his study a building over for the afternoon, is wondering what the joke is.

As for Elli, she giggles a bit, and snuggles closer against Karen while wrapping an arm around me.

I wonder if this is some sort of symptom, this sudden excessive cuddliness.

"Urk! Elli, what are you doing?"

"It's a Girl Nest," Karen answers for her. "They cure everything."

I nod, more or less at a loss.

"Oh." Then I peek at Elli as best I can with her wedged between me and Karen. "What do you plan to do?"

Elli gives this piteous little moan that _almost_ makes me regret asking. But it's important to hammer these things out early on, and I don't want her to do anything stupid.

"I'm going to give it a little time before I make a decision," she finally replies. "I want to see if he'll come clean."

"And we need to get some proof against him, if she's going to be able to sue for breach of contract," Karen adds matter-of-factly.

Something about Elli's miserably guilty expression tells me that she and Karen have entirely different ideas on this point, but whatever the reason for delaying the divorce, as her friend, I think someone sensible needs to talk her out of it.

And between Karen and me, I think I'm a little more likely.

"Do you really think that's a good idea, Elli? I think you owe it to yourself to get away from him and move on with your life as soon as possible."

There. That didn't sound bad.

"I can't do that!" Elli wails. "I can't throw away our entire marriage because he made one mistake!"

"Over and over and over," Karen mutters sarcastically.

"You don't know that!"

"Elli, for crying out loud, they slept in your bed!" Karen explodes. "He brought her to town for a field trip. Do you really think he'd do that for a one-time fling? You know they've been doing this for a while now, don't you?"

"Then why hasn't anyone seen her before?" Elli demands.

"I don't know," Karen shoots back. "Maybe he's been really careful, and he just got sloppy today."

"Maybe he wants to get rid of me," Elli whispers, looking like a lost little girl.

Karen grins.

"That's why you stick to him like glue, don't let him know you suspect a thing, until you get some proof."

"I don't want his money."

"Sure you do. Everyone likes money."

"I earn enough at the Clinic to live on."

"You mean, for your grandma and brother to live on. Do yourself a favour, El'."

"I don't want a failed marriage to turn into a money-making scheme!"

"Hey, at least you'd be getting more out of it than wasted time and a load of misery."

My eyes have been darting back between them throughout this exchange – as well as they could in this position – but at this last statement of Karen's, they stay quite firmly on Elli as hers brim over with tears again.

"I've gotten far more than that, Karen," she sniffles. "I've had the three happiest years of my life."

Karen's versatility never fails to amaze me. At the first sign of tears, she morphs quickly from Tough-But-Kind to Snuggly, and pulls our poor Elli closer, whispering soothing nonsense into her hair.

Well, I suppose someone needs to be sensible, and I'm used to that role. I stroke her hair carefully.

"I know you've been happy, Elli, but I think you need to be reasonable. Clearly, those times are over, and you're only going to torture yourself if you stay with him."

Now, this seems a little unfair to me. Karen just finished making her cry with her own ham-handed attempts at reason, yet now that she's moved onto cuddling, she somehow has the right to look at me like I just kicked a puppy, because I'm trying to do it with a little tact.

"I just can't believe his nerve," she finally sighs when I've been sufficiently glared at, shaking her head and almost doing severe damage to Elli's shoulder. "He drags his little hump-toy through town, when anyone could have seen her. We're all _neighbours_ here; everyone _knows_ you guys. Did he even think for a second what it could do, rubbing his purple-clad whore in our faces like this?"

I carefully don't say anything, but when I catch Elli peeking down at Karen's vest and snickering a little bit, I can see that she's thinking the same thing.

Karen must have caught on too, because she's pouting.

"Yeah, well, she gives a bad name to women who like purple."

"She gives a bad name to _women_," I correct with a noise that Mom would probably call a _snort_ and _terribly unladylike_.

"_He_ gives _men_ a bad name," Elli corrects quietly.

Karen shoots her a weak grin.

"Do I smell a musical number? Y'know, _You Give Love a Bad Name_ or something?"

"No," Elli and I reply flatly together.

"Fair enough," Karen agrees meekly.

Now, I have been exposed to this whole mess for a little over five minutes now. But in those five minutes, I have seen Karen cry, which _does not happen_, I have seen Elli grow furious, which _really_ doesn't happen, and seen Elli cry, which I think has happened now about four times since I've met her.

I think my nerves have a right to be a little frazzled too.

Therefore, I feel little shame in it when I take one look at Elli's bewildered expression and burst spontaneously into half-hysterical laughter.

And since laughter has an ugly tendency to be contagious in a room full of girls with badly strained nerves, it's only so long before we're all laughing.

And since the emotional states of girls with badly strained nerves tend to be volatile, it's only so long before we're all crying again.

This could be a very long afternoon.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

And a very draining one, apparently, I add internally, slogging back downstairs as Elli and Karen scurry out down the back stairs.

To where, I'm not sure I want to know.

"Mary?" Gray calls tentatively as I drag myself back to my desk. "Are you okay?"

_Oh, Gray, I don't want to drag you into this._ I try to smile.

"I'm fine."

He sets down his book and hurries over to the front desk, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot with his hands behind his back in that way he has when he's nervous.

"Are...are Elli and Karen alright?"

Oh, dear. I don't know if I'm supposed to keep this a secret. Best to be safe, I decide.

"I'm sorry, Gray, but I really can't tell you."

He looks a little hurt. Note to self: take him on a wonderful, romantic picnic on Goddess Peak sometime soon to make this up to him.

"Oh. Okay."

"I would love to tell you about it, but it's Elli's secret to tell, and she seemed upset when Karen told _me_."

Gray snorts.

"Well, that's stupid. You three have been friends forever."

I'm sure I'm beaming like a dopey idiot right now. Have I mentioned how much I adore this man? He always manages to say the right thing without trying. And when someone who talks as little as Gray does manages to say the right thing more often than not, it's quite an accomplishment.

And by the time I've closed the little gap between us to _show_ him just how perfect he is, I'm afraid that both Gray and I have very effectively pushed poor Elli's plight to the backs of our minds.

---------------------------------------------------------------------


	4. Ann

Chapter 4

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Busy, busy, busy.

"Hey, Ann, could another milk and another orange juice over here?"

Busy, busy, busy, busy, busy.

"Get it in gear, kiddo! Those three haven't ordered yet!"

Busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy.

"Yeah, I'll get a plate of cheese fries and a hot dog to go, please."

Busy, busy—wait a second! We don't do cheese fries _or_ take-out, you smartass!

"Go away, Duke," I huff, giving my second-favourite uncle-that-isn't-really a big hug and a refill on his coffee despite his teasing.

"Hey, you should be grateful, Annie," he scolds playfully with the stupid nickname I hate most in the world. No one's allowed to use it but Dad, Duke, and Carter. I guess Cliff's allowed use it, too, but he doesn't know about it, and he wouldn't if he knew I hated it. That's the nice thing about marrying the perfect guy, I guess.

But while I'm getting all daydreamy over my uncle-that-isn't-really's adopted son-that-isn't-really, he's talking some more. "I could've come storming in here like a great big thundercloud, like Gotz over there."

I blink a few times, then rub my eyes and blink some more.

Gotz has been here every evening from about five, to grab a quick bite and then start on our repairs, but he's been saying himself the whole way through that it's a great job, he's having fun doing something different, Dad and Cliff are great about lending a hand, and I know he appreciates it when I scurry in periodically with something for _the guys _to drink.

But tonight, he's seated far away from everyone else, glaring into space, crossing his arms and kind of ignoring the big, gorgeous, perfectly foamy frothy pint on the table in front of him.

Technically, we're not supposed to be serving alcohol right now, because Thomas has some crazy rule about _not before seven_, and if we make an exception for Gotz just because he's making the kitchen inhabitable again, we might get people complaining.

"Bye, Duke," I mutter absently, hurrying away from the table. I can hear Duke shouting after me – something about those cheese fries he wanted – but I'm ignoring him, only partly because he's a big pain in the butt.

Dad works so hard to make the Inn a nice, relaxing place for everyone to come and have fun, so whenever I see someone moping around here, I have to zip on over and cheer them up.

Whether they like it or not.

And it kinda seems like Gotz doesn't, because he's pulling his beer closer like I'm trying to steal it, and glaring at me.

"What do you want?"

"Everything okay?" I ask in my _good-waitress _voice.

"Yeah, great," he replies flatly.

I don't know; I'm just not convinced.

"Are you sure? Because you kind of look like you just discovered that we forgot to take the guts out of your fish there."

He turns a funny shade of green, and pushes his plate of breaded poached snapper cutlet abruptly away. I grin, making a mental note to tell everyone tomorrow that _Gotz_, of all people, is squeamish.

"Damn it, what's with you girls these days?" he grumbles, poking cautiously at his fish. "When you're not drunk and suicidal, you're acting like brats."

I grin proudly.

"Yeah, I know, it—hold on, _what_?" I'm in the chair next to him in an instant, swapping my _Good Waitress_ look for my _all-the-details-now-or-I'll-kill-you_ look. "Gotz, is something wrong with Karen?"

"No, not Karen," he says with an impatient wave. "The other one. The…little, frilly blue one."

I choke, which is pretty impressive, since I'm not drinking anything.

"Elli? Come on, Gotz, Elli doesn't drink."

"Everyone drinks when things get bad enough."

"Elli doesn't. She might drink, like, tea or something, or she reads a book, or goes for a walk. What the heck happened, anyway?"

Gotz's mustache is bristling by this point, either with anger at the noisy little redheaded thing pestering him or with the effort _not_ to tell me what's wrong with Elli that apparently sent her to the liquor cabinet and careening around Mother's Hill.  
"Sorry, kiddo," he finally shrugs. "Not my business to go blurting out her problems."

The hell you say?! You, Mr. Gotz, are going the right way for a bug in your beer.

"Elli's my _friend_, Gotz; that makes it _my_ business."

He snorts.

"You'd think that if it was your business, she'd have told you."

"Elli doesn't _tell_ people things," I snort. These men! They're always behind on everything! "Not the bad stuff, anyway. You have to pry it out of her with a crowbar, almost, if you want to know why she's upset."

"Really," Gotz mutters absently, eyes narrowing a little as they fix on the doorway. "Well, now'd be a good time to start prying."

I look, and bolt from my chair like someone just lit it on fire, because Karen is at the doorway, dragging a reluctant Elli after her.

Now, if what Gotz implied between grumbles is true, Elli's still walking off the effects of _one_ drinking binge today. And now she's here.

Somehow, I doubt it's for the ambiance, and the soothing sounds of Duke shouting at Dad when he drinks too much.

Never mind that we've told Karen at least twelve times in the past week that no, we're not making an exception and opening the bar, even for her.

So what happened here?

Well, that's what I'm going to find out.

And apparently, Gotz is pretty curious too, because he's following close on my heels, and somehow he's the first to reach Karen and Elli, lean in closer to Elli, and ask in this sort of quiet growl what she's doing there.

"This is a _bar_, Gotz," Karen grins, even though I can see that it's taking some effort and she looks like she'd rather be either crying or yelling at Rick. I point out helpfully that no, it's not actually a bar until the repairs are finished, but everyone just sort of ignores me. "Why do you think she's here?"

"Yeah, that's what I figured," he grumbles, before seizing her by the arm that Karen isn't currently using to drag her toward Dad and the alcohol supply. "But I think you've had enough today, miss."

"W-well, I do kind of agree," Elli murmurs, casting me an imploring look, and it's only now that I notice that her eyes are red and swollen.

And Karen's, too, which must make her pretty angry, because now she's glaring at poor Elli, who shrinks back like a bunny facing down a rocket launcher, and Gotz, who glares back.

"And _I_ think Mr. _Gotz_ should mind his own damn business."

"Does Miss Ann have to mind her own business, too?" I ask pleadingly, nearly dancing with curiosity over what could make Karen and Elli cry, _and_ Elli get drunk, _twice,_ on the _same day_, that Gotz would care about.

"Karen," Elli pleads, fixing our favourite drink-er-like-a-fish-er with wide, imploring eyes. "I know Ann's our friend, but—"  
"Don't see what it'll matter," Gotz grumbles before I can even finish pulling on my outraged expression that Elli would try to keep something from _The Girls_. "He's not being too subtle, parading her around the mountains all morning, picnic lunch, skinny-dipping in the pond, the whole deal."

"Yeah, El, everyone'll know by the end of the week," Karen adds briskly.

Elli tries to glare scathingly at both of them, and ends up kind of looking like an angry kitten.

"Don't you think that might have something more to do with your new hobby of running around town, shouting about my marital difficulties, _Karen_?"

Marital. Difficulties. Hold on; parading _HER_ around? Who is this mysterious _HER_?

Well, when Ann wants to know something, Ann finds out!

"Alright; you, you, and you, with me," I order briskly, pointing to Karen, Gotz, and Elli in turn.

I can feel their amused, annoyed, and despairing looks at the back of my head, but that's not important right now.

"Dad!" I call as we pass the counter in a kind of subdued conga line. "I'm taking my break now, okay?"

Dad glances at me, and then looks again, more closely, when he notices my parade of followers. He's frowning, and I whip around to see if Elli and Karen have started crying again.

Hey, photographic evidence of this momentous occasion could fetch me a fortune.

"We're almost ready to close anyway, kiddo. Why don't you just take the rest of the day off?" he suggests kindly. "And let me know if you girls get hungry, alright? Or you big, burly, very clearly male woodsmen," my dear sweet father adds with a chuckle as Karen snickers and Gotz glares.

"Thanks, Dad," I call back over my shoulder, although I doubt he heard it, because I think I kind of slammed the door to my room shut and locked it before I got farther than 'Tha--'

"So, now that we're all here, anyone wanna play Mystery Date?" Karen asks flatly, sitting cross-legged and cross-...uh, armed on my bed.

"I've had nightmares that started this way," Gotz grumbles.

"Then I guess that's a no for the full makeover," Elli giggles.

I guess, marital troubles or not, making fun of Gotz is something everyone can enjoy.

"Har-har, you guys." I turn to Elli. "So, what's going on, anyway? What _marital troubles_ are you guys talking about, and who is 'she'?"

Elli gives a huge sigh of defeat.

"Okay, Ann, you deserve to know. We did completely disrupt your shift for this."

"And we're friends, and friends don't keep anything from each other!" I remind her, toward the frantic end of snippily.

"Right, that too," Elli agrees, ducking sheepishly. "The truth is, Liam's got a new horse, and I think he might be dangerously near falling in love. It seems like all he does anymore is ride her in the mountains. It's kind of a silly thing to be upset over, but I've been really hormonal and moody lately."

By the time Elli's finished her story, Gotz is looking completely bewildered, and Karen is looking in distinct danger of a total meltdown.

"Yeah, that's it exactly," she agrees through gritted teeth, "if by _horse _you mean _woman_, and by _ride her in the mountains_, you mean _fu—_"

"Karen!"

"What? This is important, and you're trying to make a joke out of it."

Karen's got a point. I do object to other people trying to steal my defining characteristics.

"And if you want to get technical, I remember some pretty impressive cursing being bounced around," Gotz adds with a chuckle.

"I wish I had been there," Karen sighs wistfully, and again, she's kind of got a point.

Elli swearing a blue streak isn't something we get to see everyday.

Karen swearing a blue streak is a little more common, but somehow, it's a sight that never gets old.

Gotz swearing a blue streak happens pretty seldom, until you consider how often he actually _talks_, and how many of those are swearing.

In that case, Gotz swears all the goddamn time, as he would say.

But all this talk about naughty language has almost distracted me from the important issue.

"Whoa, whoa, hold on! Liam's having an affair?"

"Yup," says Karen casually.

"Yeah," says Gotz growlingly.

"Yeah," Elli finally admits sadly when I look to her for confirmation that the whole world really is going nuts and it's not just Gotz and Karen.

For my own part, I sputter like an idiot.

"B-b-but he's, like, stupidly, disgustingly in love with you! What happened?"

Elli sighs.

"I really wish I knew, Ann."

"C'mon, you two, Liam loves _women_," Karen huffs. "Remember when he first got here, how he used to flirt with everything in a dress and even some things that weren't?"

I blink, recalling all the times Liam and Elli came to the bar at night, and Liam's constant friendliness and compliments and hugging and casual touching.

"Well, yeah, but he still does that."

"It was all just in good fun, between friends!" Elli objects. "I know I can trust all of you, and I _thought_ I could trust him."

I grin weakly.

"See? Put a guy you can't trust with a girl you don't know, and bad things happen."

Oops. Wrong thing to say. Now Gotz and Karen are glaring at me, and what Dad calls Elli's _big brown doe eyes_ are filling with tears while she burbles things like _swear, I'll kill them both_ and _lousy lying sonofabitch_.

"Tell you what," I add hastily too nervous under the heat of those glares to even properly enjoy the first time I've heard Elli swear in about ten years. "Karen, you hold down the fort, and I'll go grab us all something to drink." I point at Gotz, Karen, and Elli in turn. "Beer, wine, and Tequila Sunrise, right?" 

Gotz chuckles a little, patting Elli awkwardly on the shoulder as best he can while Karen is vigorously hugging her.

"You might be a godawful therapist, but you're a damn good bartender."

"Yup," I grin proudly at him over my shoulder. "I upset people, but then I get them too drunk to remember why they were upset."

With that, I go bolting for the liquor cabinet behind the bar for Elli's tequila (okay, fine, and mine too) and Karen's wine, pausing only to taunt Duke a little with the alcohol that we can't serve right now, because we're closing at six-thirty for the repairs that Gotz may or may not get around to tonight, with all these crazy girls clinging to him.

Duke's annoyed scowl is a little less satisfying when you take into account the huge cellar he's got full of the stuff just a door over, but I'll take what I can get.

After all, I just spent the past week cooking up annoying complicated dishes on the menu for the guy, just because he _knows _that we've been running at about half-time, with most of the kitchen being torn out and replaced.

Hey, have _you_ ever tried to make linguine and prawns in garlic butter, using a hot plate and a toaster? Eventually, I had to go out into the back yard and do the prawns over a campfire.

And after all that work, the big jerk _still_ complained that the shrimp "tasted smoky" or something.

People pay extra for that, you know, Duke.

So, I filled his coffee about a quarter of a centimeter less than usual.

He complained about that, too, but not nearly as much as he complained that it wasn't wine.

I think I'll spit in his pie tomorrow.

While I'm trying to decide between several disgusting things to do to Duke's food, I've managed to get back to my room, drinks in hand (okay, fine, on tray), and as soon as I walk in the door, Karen jumps on me and snags the wine.

"Hey, careful with that!" Elli chastises, bolting from her position curled up, previously in Karen's lap and now just sort of in a bewildered pile on my bed, to rescue the Tequila Sunrises.

"One of those is mine, you know," I remind her sternly, shoving the tray and beer at Gotz.

"Thanks, kiddo," he mutters, shaking his head a little dizzily. I guess the poor man has never seen a real live feeding frenzy before.

"So," I speak up after a long moment of sips (Elli), gulps (Gotz), and chugs (Karen, me), "how are you planning to kill him?"

"It'll have to be poison or lethal injection in his sleep," Elli replies ruefully. "I couldn't lift his hammer, and his axe is pretty heavy too."

I give her a sympathetic pat on the arm.

"I know what you mean. There's no maneuverability with a weapon like that. I thought maybe you bought a gun while you were out getting drunk all afternoon."

"Yeah, from the weapons dealer that Mineral Town doesn't actually have," Karen mutters, so sarcastically she almost sounds bitter about it.

"Hey, who knows what Won's selling over at Zack's?" I grin.

"Anyway, she's not killing him yet," Karen informs me briskly, glaring at me as I giggle like an idiot into my drink. "She has to wait until she gets some evidence that this is happening."

"But once I have my photos, all bets are off."

"Whoa, wait a second," Gotz orders, clunking his beer down onto the side table. "Go back to the part where you're planning to play stalker instead of getting the hell out of a bad situation?"

Elli gives him this half-glare, half-puppy-dog-eyes look, kind of like she really wants to cry and she's really mad about it, then downs the rest of her drink in a couple gulps and slams her glass to the floor.

Thanks, Elli, I needed a great big crack across the base of one of our best highball glasses.

"I've had this conversation with about four people already today, and except for Karen, everyone's told me that I'm crazy for not marching straight home to demand divorce papers from him. Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and see that you're all right about it, but for right now, I'm really not up to it. In fact," she continues, sending me a grateful smile and avoiding Karen's watchful gaze, "I'm really tired, so I think I'm just going to head home and go to bed."

"Good idea," the big guy scoffs. "Run back home and see how long you can look him in the eye without falling apart."

"Well, it's better than trying to explain to Liam why I'm living in Karen's room!" Elli shoots back.

"You're not living in Karen's room," Karen herself speaks up absently, watching the wine slosh all over the place as she twirls her glass around by the stem. She returns Elli's bewildered look with a beaming smile. "Don't worry; I've got it all hammered out."

Gotz climbs to his feet and grabs his empty beer mug.

"Alright, girls, this was fun, but I have work to do." He gives Elli a little pat on the head. "Take care of yourself, kiddo."

"Yeah, Ann, I think we better take off now too," Karen agrees as the door bangs shut behind Gotz, who obviously never learned the art of being careful with other people's things.

"We're really sorry for descending on you out of nowhere like this, Ann," Elli chimes in, giving me this bone-crunching hug. "Thank-you for being so sweet about it."

And with that, as quickly as they all assembled in my room (with only slightly complete prodding from me), my guests are gone.

_Yup_, I think, moving slowly to collect everyone's glasses, help Dad finish closing up, and get something for Cliff for supper before he gets back from work, ravenously hungry but too polite to bring it up (not too polite, however, to follow me around with this sad little puppy-dog expression until I go fix him something). _Busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy_.

-------------------------------------------------------------

End Notes: Oog. I am not good with Ann. That aside, I solemnly swear that something else will happen next chapter, aside from drinking, crying, and ranting. Maybe we'll even meet Liam! For now, I hope Rhianwen's Extremely-Shaky-and-Silly-to-Make-Up-For-It version of Ann is amusing enough to substitute for any plot advancement. XD  



	5. Doctor

Chapter 5 - Doctor

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It's at times like this that I can't help but wish that I wore glasses.

My father has worn glasses all his life, and he has absolutely the most effective _what-the-hell-is-going-on-here_ look I've ever seen. He'll stare over the tops of his glasses for a long moment, then sigh and rub his eyes behind the lenses, before looking up again to repeat the process.

But, having been cursed with twenty-twenty vision, I'll have to settle for putting down my pen and looking as stern as possible without vision correction.

"Please repeat that."

"Elli's going to be staying here tonight," Karen reiterates cheerfully. "She has a twenty-four hour flu bug, and you were worried about her walking home like that, so you kept her here to keep an eye on her."

I turn my stern gaze on Elli.

"I must say, you look wonderful for someone with the flu."

"That's strange," she mutters weakly, leaning heavily on Karen, "because I'm feeling a little nauseous. I think it's the Stoli."

If I had glasses right now, I'd be taking them off and rubbing my eyes wearily. As I do not, I'll be forced, again, to settle for just the eye-rubbing.

"Karen, don't you think her own bed is the best place for her right now?"

"Sure," Karen snorts. "With a sweet, caring husband, if he has time amid affairs to look after her?"

"How on earth did I deal with this before your constant ray of sunshine came forth to cheer me up?" my nurse asks Karen pleasantly.

Ordinarily, I would laugh at this, because the combination of cherubic sweetness and the needling sarcasm occasionally found in Elli at certain times of the month is charming, to say the least. But it's been a long day, between a morning swamped by a vicious flu just beginning to make its way through town, and an afternoon trying to concentrate on _business as usual_ despite the mysterious disappearance of my entire staff. I turn to Karen.

"I suppose you took the liberty of shouting at Liam on her behalf?"

"Of course I didn't," she snaps. "She's biding her time."

"Ah. So you're supporting her idea of waiting until he comes clean on his own?"

"Nope," she replies matter-of-factly. "I'm supporting _my_ idea of waiting until she can catch the bastard in the act and nail him for it in court."

"I'm not going to court!"

Both of us look immediately in the direction of this plaintive wail. She isn't crying, but she's shaking to the point that I bolt immediately forward to catch her, despite Karen's arm tightly around her.

"No one is going to make you do anything, Elli," I tell her firmly, shooting a warning look at Karen, who backs off, hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Your room's right where you left it; you're welcome to stay as long as you need."

"Yeah, go put on some PJ's and have a hot bath," Karen adds, shooing her towards the stairs, apparently overlooking the small fact that she doesn't actually live here.

With a grateful smile, Elli makes quickly for the stairs.

As soon as the door of her old room clicks shut behind her, I start for the door.

"Hey, where are _you_ going?"

When I look back over my shoulder, Karen's arms are still crossed, and she's watching me sternly.

"Someone has to go explain to Liam why his wife isn't coming home."

"I'll take care of it."

I stare.

"Are you sure? Isn't that a little out of your way?"

"Naw, it's fine. This was my idea. And anyway," she adds with a grin, "he might take it a little better from me. I don't have quite the same personal interest in the idea of Elli spending the night here."

I can't tell if I've winced visibly or not.

"What does that mean?"

Huh. Interesting. Apparently, I've acquired my mother's uncanny ability to strike fear into the most stalwart – or simply reckless – of hearts with a single word uttered in her patented _calm angry voice_. Karen, who makes quite a big production over not answering to anyone for anything, is gaping foolishly in the doorway.

"I—look, I just meant that...we all know that you like her a lot."

"If you think she isn't safe here—"

"No! Hell, she's probably safer here than at home. It's just that, it'd be fun to remind him that Elli's not exactly...you know, some plain, insignificant loser that he can just leave at home while he's out cruising for girls."

"And you think that I would take advantage of her while she's shell-shocked and vulnerable?"

"Shit, of course not! I don't think anyone could take better care of her than you. Liam just doesn't like other guys taking care of his wife."

"Ironically."

"No kidding," Karen agrees emphatically. "Look, sorry. I'm gonna go talk to Liam now."

"Right. Thanks."

And with that, she's gone, and I can stop wondering about the double standards of women these days. Feeling older than any man should at thirty-two, I climb the stairs stiffly and settle down on the couch in my room.

I've left the door carefully open, and brewed a nice pot of the chamomile tea Elli used to drink before bedtime when she still lived here, before she moved to Sirius Farm.

I don't know if she'll feel much like company, but I might as well leave the offer open.

It seems to work quite well; I've hardly had time to open my book when a little visitor creeps into the room, wearing what I recognize instantly as my old bathrobe, worn around the cuffs, but still apparently soft enough that she hugs the oft-washed and faded flannel closer like a favourite blanket as she curls up on the couch.

"I—I borrowed this while you were downstairs with Karen," she pipes up, lifting one arm in a sleeve far too long for it, and sending me a warm, tired smile as I press a cup of tea into her hands.

"That's fine."

"I'm really sorry about this. I can go home if it's too much trouble."

"Of course not." I can't help but think that it's a bad idea, encouraging her to hide from the situation like this, but right now she looks absolutely exhausted and miserable, and I have no intention of turning her out.

I think she could use a little time with someone who isn't either treating her like dirt or doing their very best to work her into a frenzy.

No, that isn't fair. Liam has been good to her. She's been rapturously happy, and certainly very much in love. If she ever suspected something like this before, she hasn't said anything, although it's far too easy for me to forget that girls don't generally talk about these things with their _bosses_.

Leaving completely aside the possibility that most young women don't sleep over at their boss's homes when they're angry with their husbands.

I don't understand how this didn't seem a little too close for comfort before she moved out. We've spent a lot of evenings like this; there was rarely time during the day for our tutoring sessions, and she spent most of them in nightgowns, pyjamas, sweatpants, and the little fuzzy blue dressing gown I got her for her birthday the first year I knew the right date in time.

She even brought a teddy bear once. I think she was trying to break it to me gently that my lessons were as interesting as watching paint dry.

But never once did it occur to me to feel uncomfortable. By the time she had moved in here – not a day before eighteen, at Ellen's twinkling, but rock-solid insistence – I knew her well enough not to be phased by flannel pants with little sheep on them.

Tonight is something else altogether. And not only because every man loves to see a woman in his clothing.

Up until Karen got through with me, I _did_ feel like a fairly nice guy. I wanted to do everything I could to help her, because she's a nice girl who doesn't deserve this.

Now I wonder if Karen knows something about my intentions that even I don't. Am I doing this for Elli, or for the good of my own image a kind, sensitive, understanding man who would never have hurt her this way?

I can't deny that the idea of Liam getting upset at the thought of losing her holds some appeal. The idea of him having a _reason_ to worry might hold a little more, if I wasn't so busy wanting to wring his neck right now.

I'm torn from my contemplation of just how it feels to be Zack the Sequel, and Elli is likewise torn from finding shapes in the puffs of steam rising from her mug, by a sharp knock at the front door.

"Wait here," I order, already up and out the door before she can do more than give a little squeak of surprise at the sudden noise.

If it's Karen again, I'm hiding in the closet and pretending no one's here. I can't think of anyone I want to see _less_ at the moment. Call it _shooting the messenger_.

_Alright_, I correct as I finish with the lock and open the door, _maybe there's _one _person I want to see less._

"Hey, Doc," Liam greets absently, trying to peek around me into the waiting room. "Karen said Elli was here?"

"Yes; I thought it might be safer for both of you to keep her here for the night," I half-lie blandly.

He laughs. Elli has told me at great length, rosy-cheeked and sparkling-eyed, about his laugh. I think I'd like to be sick.

"Good thinking, man. Knowing her, she'd spend all night cleaning, or baking or something, and wake up even worse tomorrow."

"And then work two hours of overtime, and develop pneumonia," I add with a little chuckle, despite my rising urge to do something very un-doctorly to him.

He looks alarmed.

"Is it serious?"

"No, no, she'll be fine. I just wanted to keep an eye on her for a night or two."

He shuffles nervously in place, and I can almost swear that he's blushing a bit.

"So, is she too sick for visitors?"

"I'll run upstairs and see if she feels up to coming down."

"I could go up with you," he offers, already following me towards the stairs.

I have the strangest feeling that I'm throwing a match into a powder keg, but I can't exactly _tell_ him why I'd rather he stayed down here until I could warn Elli that her sweet, concerned, loving husband is here to see her. Especially when that would involve explaining why she's reasonably likely to go into a panic fit over it.

A cursory check of Elli's old room proves it still empty. I guess she didn't take a running leap into bed when she heard Liam downstairs.

I hear a low whistle behind me.

"Wow, you've kept it exactly like she left it. You even kept all the damn teddy bears!" He chuckles easily. "You know she told you to throw them out if you wanted, right?"

I shrug. I've been meaning to throw them out, actually, maybe keep one or two of the nicer ones for her kids when they come along. But whenever I go to do it, I just end up looking through them, laughing over some of the stories of their origins, and lining them up neatly back on the shelf.

"You never know when you're going to need something to cuddle," I finally reply absently, picking up one of the bears, this one in a little hat decorated with a sunflower almost the size of the animal itself.

I think this one came from the Secret Santa the girls do every year.

Liam, meanwhile, has become distracted by a sound from my room. He hurries through the hall, and stops short in the doorway.

"Elli! Oh, Elligirl, you look terrible!"

"Thanks, honey," she huffs playfully as he kneels by the couch to and gathers her into his arms.

I look away. I don't know if it's harder to take that she's probably not the only girl he's held like this today, or the way she's snuggling forgivingly against his chest, tickling his nose and laughing as he makes a playfully outraged noise, a sparkle of joy that I didn't expect to see for a good long time flashing back into her face.

This is ridiculous; is he really shameless enough to play her like this?

Is she really gullible enough to let him?

"Hey, Tim, are you sure this isn't something serious?" Liam is meanwhile asking, forehead wrinkled anxiously as he runs a gentle thumb over the swollen, reddened skin under her eyes and takes in her unhealthy pallor.

"No, honey, trust me, I'm fine," she assures him hurriedly. "You _men_ just worry too much."

A teasing kiss on the nose. More laughter.

"I'll just be downstairs, alright?"

The couple giggling and cuddling on the couch barely look up as I shut the door quietly behind me, and head back down to my office.

As long as I've been evicted from my room, I might as well get some work done.

Or at least, I might as well pull out some files and make a pretence, staring at them blankly while listening intently at all times for the sound of angry voices, blunt objects, breaking glass, gunshots, or Liam's death-cries, from upstairs.

After about fifteen minutes thus employed, footsteps sound on the stairs, and I bolt from my desk, almost to the curtain before it occurs to me to just duck behind it and watch from the shadows.

Just to glean a better idea of how he acts towards her when there's no one else around.

And so far, so good. I can almost understand how she can still be so melted with love for him.

As he reaches the door, he turns, catches her hand, and pulls her closer. She's staring adoringly up at him, and he's cupping her cheek and returning her gaze as though she's the only woman in the world.

He's just said something.

_I wish I could stay to take care of you myself_.

I think. I used to be excellent at reading lips. It's a bit rusty now from years of neglect, but that's the gist of it, anyway.

It's not hard to read her response; she melts against him, head nuzzled at his chest, expression pure bliss.

Dr. Hardy likes to say that everything, good or bad, will pass with time, and nothing is so difficult that it lasts forever. I wonder if he's ever had to watch a…dear friend throwing herself away on a man just waiting for his next chance to hurt her.

But I suppose he's right. It might seem like it's been an eternity, but it's probably been no more than a few minutes before Elli reluctantly releases her husband and brushes a kiss to his palm when he cups her cheek gently.

_Goodnight, sweetie. I'll see you tomorrow evening._

_Evening? Why wouldn't the doctor send you home during the day? He can't possibly make you work if you're sick. Even he's not that much of a jerk._

Ah. I suppose this is what Carter meant when he said that eavesdroppers never overhear anything good of themselves. At least he has the grace to blush a little when his wife fixes him with a disapproving eye and pokes him in the ribs.

_He might keep me here until evening to make sure it isn't serious._

Liam hesitates.

_Okay. But try to come home tomorrow, okay? It's lonely without you._

From here, I can just barely see a muscle twitch in my nurse's jaw, despite Liam's beaming smile.

_Okay, sweetie. Goodnight_.

The door closes softly behind him, and almost immediately, Elli hurries over and yanks back the curtain.

Whoops.

But instead of anger, her expression turns pleading.

"Please don't get mad, Tim."

I think that laugh of disbelief came from me.

"Why would I get mad? I was the one spying on you two."

"Then you saw me turn into a spineless, squealing idiot the second he walked in the door," she replies glumly.

Damn it. It would be the easiest thing in the world right now, to touch her shoulder, or her hair, or pull her into my arms and keep her there until she forgets why her eyes are still swollen with tears.

"I understand. He's still your husband, after all," I shrug, forcing my attention to the row of pill bottles on a nearby shelf.

"I guess it really is hard to stop loving someone, just because you know you should," she sighs.

A smash fills the air, joined by several muttered profanities, as I abruptly lose my grip on the jar of cough syrup I've just picked up.

"Language, Doctor," Elli scolds mildly, and as unblushingly as though she hasn't said far worse over the course of the day. Which I strongly suspect she has. "Don't worry, I'll help you clean it up."

"You," I tell her sternly, "are going upstairs, to bed. This isn't a sleepover party, Elli. You're here for some rest."

She must be exhausted; she's just gone without a fight, bid me a reluctant goodnight and headed immediately for the stairs – although, I think she might have stuck her tongue out at me when I wasn't looking.

With one last stern look her way over the tops of my imaginary glasses, I turn back to the pool of sticky red cough syrup.

Huh. Somehow, this seems eerily like foreshadowing of what might happen if I'm left alone with Liam for too long, a puddle of something deep red gradually seeping out to cover the floor.

Elli would be furious; it's rightly _her_ honour, spilling this man's blood. But who knows at this point if she's going to follow through, or try to ignore his blatant unfaithfulness? In that case, it's almost my duty as her friend, no doubt with Karen's gleefully cackling help, to send him somewhere far away from her.

I think the afterlife should be far enough.

And so, with the company of my borderline homicidal thoughts, I gather up a bundle of wet rags and start scrubbing.

------------------------------------------------------------

End Notes: Whooooooo-hoo. I did NOT mean to get so much of the good doctor's...ahem, feelings out in the open in this chapter. But he sort of took over. It's harder than I thought, writing first-person but only hinting at that sort of thing.

Meanwhile, Elli. Where did her spine go? Maybe it's the alcohol, or maybe she's just too tired for a fight. Or, maybe she's really good at hiding what she doesn't want people to see, and we'll get more well-concealed rage when we get back to her POV. Next chapter, by the way, unless I get some irresistibly awesome ideas for Popuri before then. Geez...this story's gonna end up being fifty or sixty chapters. DX


	6. Elli2

Chapter 6 – Elli

------------------------------------------------

"I'm glad to see that you're in a better mood this morning."

I must have jumped a foot in the air like a skittish little bunny rabbit, because there's scrambled egg on the floor, and the doctor is giving that little chuckle that means he's trying really hard not to laugh harder.

"What makes you say that?" I ask, kneeling to collect the lost portion of our breakfast and dropping it immediately in the wastebasket. No matter what Liam says, I do _not_ follow the 'three-second rule'.

"You were singing."

"Oh…um, sorry." I think I'm blushing. This isn't fair. I was _supposed_ to stop being flustered around him when I got over my little schoolgirl crush and became friends with him instead.

"Don't apologize," he admonishes gently. "I really am glad that you're feeling better."

I give him a dazzling, beaming, only slightly headache-ey smile.

"Thank-you, Doctor. Just for that, I'll share my breakfast with you!"

He eyes the plates heaped with eggs and pancakes. I even threw in some soy-based breakfast links I found at the Supermarket yesterday.

"Ah. And who _was_ going to help you eat all that?"

I think I'm blushing again.

"Okay, so I went a little overboard…"

"A little. We could comfortably feed Carter, Jeff, Sasha, and Karen with the amount you made."

"No, we couldn't," I tell him firmly, swatting his hand away as he tries to sneak a sausage before I've got everything arranged. "I'm really hungry this morning."

"Even with the hangover."

"W-well, I was up at about five," I admit, ducking a little and looking away when his eyebrows move together and his lips tighten like they always do when he disapproves of something. "I took some Aspirin, drank about a gallon of water, and read a book. It was kind of nice."

"Well, now that you're up, eat your breakfast. Then you're going back to bed."

Umm…

"Umm…"

"No arguments, Elli," he orders sternly, and the man actually has the nerve to steal my spatula and start flipping the pancakes himself! "If it's getting around town that you're sick, you can't exactly sit at the front desk. As exhausted as you're still looking," he adds with that trying-not-to grin, "I'd have the concerned mothers of town storming my office, headed by Ellen."

I pat his hand sympathetically.

"Have you ever had her ram that wheelchair into you at full speed?"

He stares, blankly horrified, and I laugh.

"I'm kidding, Doctor."

He laughs too, and shakes his head.

"Yes, you're definitely going back to bed. And if I catch you anywhere near the liquor cabinet, I'll put a cat bell on you."

I pull an expression of deep outrage.

"Doctor! You make me sound like some kind of drunkard!"

"Oh, I'm sorry; it must have been a different employee that showed up here last night, clinging to her friend to stay upright."

If I didn't know him so well, I'd be really offended.

"Ho-ho, funny-Doctor."

"Eat your breakfast."

Hmm. Food sounded like a really good idea when I woke up this morning. But now, the lumpy yellowish stuff that I'm sure looked like scrambled eggs a minute ago, and the icky stuff leaking out of the soy sausages are kind of turning my stomach.

Tim gives me another stern look as I take a relatively safe-looking pancake and proceed to draw a syrup happy-face.

"The rest of it, too, Elli. I'm not eating eight sausages and a heap of eggs by myself."

"But I don't want it now!"

He sighs, exasperated. I'm sure I've given Stu that sigh.

"Well, then, you'll just sit here at the table until your appetite comes back."

Now, I _know_ I've used _that_ on Stu.

"But I'm not _hungry_," I whine back.

It's an interesting experience, turning into your own younger brother.

His sigh this time is less amused.

"Listen, Elli, you need some protein. And you're not wasting all those eggs."

"I swear, they seemed like a good idea at the time! I was really hungry when I woke up!"

"I thought this was supposed to happen _before_ the hangover," he grumbles, reluctantly spearing all but two of the sausages and dropping them on a new plate, but dumping a huge spoonful of eggs on top of my smiling pancake.

I poke warily at the eggs, and take a tiny nibble. They're okay, with enough syrup.

"Well, that's great; now _I'm_ not hungry," the doctor sighs, chin in his hand, as I grab the syrup bottle again and proceed to drown my eggs.

"I'll eat if you will," I shrug, and then grin at him around a big bite of egg. As it turns out, this was a mistake; I can almost feel myself turning green. "Maybe you should make breakfast next time."

Why did that give him such a funny expression? He looks like he's either got a troubled conscience or stomach cramps.

Maybe it's just the sausages. Apparently, it _is_ possible to overcook soy.

Blech.

----------------------------------------------

After breakfast, Tim sweeps all the dishes off the table, drops them in the sink, and then drags me back to my room.

"And don't let me catch you out of bed before lunchtime," he warns, giving me one last stern look before closing the door.

"Or what, Doctor Meanie?" I call petulantly, carefully waiting until I'm sure he's too far away to hear me.

My nightgown is still folded neatly on my pillow – because it's so much nicer to go to bed when it's neatly made and your pyjamas are folded instead of crumpled into a ball along with your sheets – so I hang my apron neatly on the back of the chair, and my dress neatly in my closet.

Then I grab a teddy bear from the shelf, and climb reluctantly into bed.

Humm. Now, how shall I spend my morning in bed, surrounded by snuggly blankets and pillows, and a couple more teddy bears that Tim must have snuck in here for me when I wasn't looking?

I had so much fun watching the doctor choke down his breakfast (and all those terrible sausages) that I almost forgot to mope over Liam. But as soon as he closed the door behind him, that heavy nausea started growing again in the pit of my stomach, and now it's creeping all the way up to the back of my neck.

I don't think that makes any sense.

Either way, I actually manage to hold off the pitiful trembly little sobs until I get under the covers, and sensibly release a flood of tears into my pillow. The last thing I want is for the doctor to hear me sniffling again when I'm supposed to be resting.

Easy for _him_ to say.

I'll _never_ be able to sleep.

…

It's awfully nice and warm in here, even if my pillow is all damp now. Maybe I'll just close my eyes for a minute, and listen to the lulling noises of the doctor dragging things around downstairs, setting up for the day.

…

Alright, enough of that. I get drowsy if I nap too much, and my eyes already feel like they're full of sand.

I peek over at the clock on the desk, and leap promptly out of bed with a little screech of horror.

It's two in the afternoon!

In seconds, I'm out of my nightie and back in my dress and apron and bolting down the stairs, warbling about sleeping away the only day off I'll have in _months_.

I nearly collide with the doctor, his expression so alarmed that I immediately feel terrible for worrying him in my slight overreaction.

"What's wrong, Elli? Are you okay?" he demands breathlessly, hands already at my shoulders, eyes narrowed and scanning my tearstains.

"I'm fine, Tim, don't worry. Sorry for shouting like that. I—I just didn't mean to sleep this long."

To his credit, he doesn't look angry with me for scaring him. But he does fix me with a reproachful eye that makes me wish he'd get mad instead.

"I told you, Elli, you're spending the day in bed."

"I should go visit Grandma," I point out, struck all at once by this diabolical inspiration.

I've got him, too. I know as soon as his eyes narrow again, aware of his defeat and highly annoyed by it. He knows perfectly well that Grandma _should_ have been the first one I told about Liam's affair and my resulting drinking binge(s). She deserves to know that she very well might be down one grandson-in-law if her granddaughter proves to be as unstable as she felt last night, and manages to lift that big heavy hammer.

"Alright, fine," Tim finally agrees, arms crossed, still making no move to let me past. "But try to get all the way there without getting drunk this time."

I bristle indignantly.

"That was Karen's fault!"

"You hadn't run into Karen yet when you showed up here the first time," he points out, one soot-black eyebrow lifting.

Oh. Right.

'Well, if I run into a guy selling hard liquor on the street before I hit Grandma's, I promise I won't buy any," I assure him with a weak grin.

As I scurry away, shutting the door softly behind me, I can almost swear that I heard him mutter something that sounded like, "If you run into a guy selling hard liquor, have him send some here."

--------------------------------------------------------

Twenty minutes later, I've hit a bit of a snag.

I had fully planned on slinking sadly into the house, slinking sadly over to Grandma, and confessing, lip quivering and eyes wobbly with tears, about Liam's new friend.

But then, _darn_ her, she just had to look so peaceful and contented and be so loving and wonderful that I couldn't bring myself to upset her.

She loves Liam so much; I can't bring myself to take that away from her. And she managed to get a successful sixty-year marriage out of the shiest, most silent and reclusive man on earth. What will she think if she finds out that her granddaughter couldn't even keep the interest of the sweetest, most affectionate and loving one?

So now, I'm standing here, giving her a great big hug from behind, and stuttering and stammering for an explanation of _why_ exactly the doctor sent me to visit her in the middle of my sick-day.

"W-well, he wanted to make sure you knew I was okay," I finally manage to squeak out. "We thought that if Manna had been by to visit, you might have the idea that I had a rare and deadly disease instead of the flu that half the town's got, and the specialists in town had given me three days to live."

Grandma laughs so entirely pleasantly that I start to worry.

She reminds me just a little bit of Sasha on a repo spree when she smiles like that.

"Oh, sweetie, don't worry about making something up to tell me. I know you must have your reasons for hiding the truth, but I'll find out what's really going on eventually. Now, why don't you fetch us some tea and a plate of the cookies Stu and I made yesterday? They're gingersnaps."

Inwardly cursing my weakness for hard-as-rock, sugar-dusted, little discs of _ginger_ and _snap_ softened up by a cup of Grandma's fragrant tea even as I start drooling like a well-trained Pavlovian puppy dog, I scurry off to carry out her orders.

"In all honestly though, Elli, you look exhausted," she observes concernedly once we're seated and alternately sipping and munching. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"W-well, I have a flu," I reply innocently.

She fixes me with a stern look. Why is everyone doing that to me today?

"I told you, Elli, you don't have to lie."

Whaa?!

"How did you--I mean, what makes you think I'm lying?"

Oh, good save, Ford. I'm sure the dumbest man on earth _might_ be convinced.

Her stern expression starts slipping a little, and now she just looks worried.

I kind of wish she'd go back to stern, or even angry, because I'm lying so she _doesn't_ have to worry about me.

"Elli, you know you're a terrible liar." She gives me this heart-breaking little almost-smile. "And the next time you want to convince someone that you're not upset, remember to wash off the tearstains."

I clap both hands instinctively to my face as it begins to occur to me that leaping out of bed in a panic and haggling with the doctor over my freedom didn't really give me much of a chance to clean up.

"I—I'm sorry, Grandma. I really can't say what's going on right now."

Grandma reaches across the table to give my hand a little squeeze, then piles six more cookies onto my modest two.

"I know dear. Eat your sweets."

Darnit, why is everyone I know conspiring to make me gain weight?

-----------------------------------------------------------

I have plenty of time to ponder this question on the way home, because as anxious as I was to get away before Grandma could pick the truth out of me just by being nice, or before I could make myself sick on cookies, I'm not particularly anxious to get home.

There are a surprising number of "long cuts" a person can take between Grandma's house and our house. By the time I'm done twisting and turning through Mineral Town, up past the church, down through the Square, out to the beach just for fun, past the Inn, back around past Saibara's and the Poultry Farm, and down through Mother's Hill for a little ways, it's well past six.

I breeze through the door, steeled by a two-hour walk against the urge to start hacking at Liam with a butcher knife the moment I see him (and happen to have a butcher knife on hand), only to find the house completely silent.

And impeccably tidy. I suppose my unplanned trip to the Clinic gave him time to get rid of the evidence.

_You're welcome, dear. Now, why don't you just sit still so I can make a nice, clean incision? Oh, the knife? Don't worry; it might look a little rusty, but it can still cut. We might just have to saw a bit._

It's a good thing that I haven't permitted myself a giggle over my own unbearably funny little scenario, because just as I get to the part where he's strapped to the table, sobbing like a little boy at the inevitable loss of his favourite body part, with Juanita Cunningham running around in frantic circles behind me, yelping that it's _her_ favourite too, the front door opens.

But in reality this time.

Liam freezes in the doorway, cap half off.

"You're home!"

I swear, he sounds almost _annoyed_ about it!

"Is that a problem?"

Whoops. I tried really hard to sound teasing, but I think it just came across as petulant and sulky.

He just sort of sighs, and hangs his hat on the hook I tacked onto the door to prevent that sweat-encrusted thing from sprinkling dirt and germs throughout the house.

"I went to pick you up from the Clinic; you said you'd be there until evening."

"I went to visit Grandma. Didn't the doctor tell you?"

"I didn't really stick around to ask," he snorts, already peeling off his overalls.

Very attractive, Liam, prancing around, dirty and sweaty, in your boxers and a ratty old tee-shirt.

Now, if only I was actually being sarcastic.

"In other words, he very well _could_ have told you, but you just weren't listening?" I suggest sternly.

He snorts again, his mouth twisting up into a scornful little curl that barely resembles a smile.

"I'm sure he _could_; he keeps closer tabs on what you're up to than I do."

I shake my head and tsk in mock-disapproval around a little ripple of unease at his expression.

"I don't know if you should admit that out loud, that the aloof, socially awkward town doctor takes better care of your wife than her _husband_."

He heaves a long sigh, and takes my hands, guiding me over to the couch.

"Elli, I'm serious. The man is creepy. He's, like, obsessed with you."

"And how did you come to that conclusion?" I ask crisply, not even letting my mind inch towards the obvious question, of how it's even possible for one human being to contain the amount of _gall _it takes to accuse a man of designs on his wife, after he himself has just spent the previous afternoon...ahem, designing another woman's brains out. "Because he talks to me daily in a relatively pleasant way? He _has_ to; I work there, and I could get him in a lot of trouble if he spent the days snarling and hurling verbal abuse."

"He kept all your teddy bears. You know the ones you told him to just throw out?"

"Liam, he's also got a box of notes from a first-year university anthropology class wedged in the back of the storage room. Do you know how long it takes him to get around to clearing out clutter?"

"He's got your old room like some sort of goddamned _shrine_! He hasn't moved a thing in there. He's a stalker!"

"He's a packrat!"

"I don't like you working there, baby," he whispers tenderly, cupping my cheek and playing with my bangs with his thumb.

"I think you can deal with it, _darling_," I snarl back, swatting his hand roughly away and bolting off of the couch. I do _not_ like the little glow of pure, undistilled joy that starts in my chest at the thought that he cares enough to make idiotic assumptions about the other men in my life.

And apparently, he likes his wife walking away from him mid-argument about as much, because his arm is around me in a flash, right at my chest, and he's pulling me back down with him and trying to turn me around to face him without getting hurt, because I'm kicking and punching and biting whatever I can get at.

"Enough!" he barks, slamming his hand down on the arm of the couch just above my head when we're finally lying, his body pinning me in place, muscled forearms pressing almost painfully into my shoulders. "What is this about?"

I hate to admit it – I mean, I really, really, _really_ hate to admit it – but I'm nearing tears again. My voice wobbles, and only a tiny bit of it is from the fear of seeing Liam get _really_ angry for only about the third time in as many years.

"This is about you taking cheap shots at one of the most important people in my _life_, Liam! What's next, Grandma's secretly trying to poison me? Stu is a child assassin for an imporant government organization? Karen is secretly trying to seduce _you_?"

I watch his face sharply at the last one, but he doesn't flinch. The concern lines around his eyes only deepen.

"C'mon, Elligirl, I'm worried about you." A soft chuckle that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Isn't a guy allowed to worry about his sweet, hard-working, drop-dead gorgeous wife?"

He runs a finger down my cheek and smiles teasingly. I don't smile back, even though those gorgeous bright green eyes are sparkling gentle laughter at me.

"He is, if it doesn't involve the defamation of someone else's character when they don't deserve it."

"You're taking this too personally," he murmurs gently into my bangs, wind-roughened lips already pushing my hair aside.

_Attn Elli: It is a very dangerous matter to start a fight with someone who knows about the abnormally high number of nerve endings in your forehead, and just how quickly you turn into a puddle when he kisses there._

After several failed attempts that _somehow_ turn into just sort of snuggling up, I finally manage to push him back a little.

"I'm not quitting my job."

He hesitates.

"Alright. We can talk more about this later."

I try to protest, tell him angrily that we're _not_ talking about this later, because I've already decided and I'm not changing my mind just because he's the world's biggest hypocrite, but it's coming out as a bunch of little squeaks. It takes me a couple seconds to connect this to the painfully familiar sensation of his lips crushing against mine.

His hands go back into my hair, and _his_ hair is coming out of its ponytail and tickling my cheek, and his breath is sending little shivers everywhere, dribbling like honey down my arms, and the back of my neck, and…um, other places.

Keep in mind, please, that I did _not_ go through years and years of education just to write trashy, formulaic romance novels.

Which is almost too bad, because I'd certainly have something to talk about right now: by the time those little starburst sensations finish fluttering down my spine and back up again, he's got my skirt bunched up almost to my waist, and…um, well, it's awfully obvious in the something pressing into my leg through his boxers that his attentions aren't _only_ for Juanita Cunningham nowadays.

"Liam…" Now, _this_ is embarrassing. I'm dangerously close to begging here, and I don't even know whether I want him to stop or keep going.

"Shh, baby, it's okay, I'm here," he breathes against my neck, nibbling and licking and doing all sorts of things that are making my eyes cloud over.

Hold on; did he just call me _baby_? For the second time in about forty seconds?

I guess tender little pet names make a convenient substitute for a girl's _real_ name - useful, when you run the risk of forgetting which girl you're romancing today, and calling her by the wrong name.

"Liam, wait," I try to order, only to end up pleading again.

He looks at me strangely, and just a little impatiently. I can feel his heart beating rapidly against my chest.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Can--can we just sleep tonight?"

After a brief pause, during which I have to squeeze my eyes shut against the annoyed disappointment in his, he climbs carefully off of me, managing to avoid any sharp elbows in particularly sensitive or squishy areas.

"Sorry," I whimper, making a mental note to never, ever let Karen find out how absolutely _submissive_ I sound right now.

It's another brief moment before he helps me up to sitting, and pulls me close against him for a quick snuggle.

"It's okay. I forgot you still aren't feeling well."

"I guess my intoxicating presence makes it hard to think clearly," I suggest with a weak grin. It's probably better not to tell him that I actually kind of forgot I was supposed to be having the flu, too.

"Why don't you just rest here for a bit, and I'll go run you a bath?"

Hmm. A bath, you say? I peek up at him, but I can only get up the ambition to open one eye.

"With bubbles?"

He laughs quietly, his fingers sifting slowly through my hair and making my eyelid droop a little.

"Rose or cinnamon?"

"Mmm...cinnamon," I reply after a moment of careful deliberation.

These are not matters to take lightly, after all. The bubble bath you use dictates what you smell like for the rest of the evening.

Although, cinnamon really _is_ the obvious choice here; rose is lovely, but cinnamon smells like cakes, and cookies, and Grandma's house, and it makes me remember being a little girl and having three cinnamon rolls for lunch and absolutely no trace of chicken pot pie, because Grandmas are allowed to spoil cute little girls, even when they get more of the sticky icing and syrup on their hands and faces than in their tummies.

Eventually, it occurs to me that Liam has left, and I've been sitting here for the last two minutes, pondering the nature of cinnamon.

And somewhere between the top of the stairs and the doorway of the bathroom, about when Liam turns from a tub full of spicy scented bubbles and gives me my very favourite smile, shining softly with happiness and contentment, something else occurs to me, crashes into my mind with the force of a freight train:

There's no way I can leave this man.

Turmoil and light bickering aside, I've been happier since he came home and started badgering me than I have since his _date_, and my corresponding rendezvous with Mr. Stoli.

And he certainly hasn't been acting like a henpecked, harried man who can't stand the sight of his wife's face anymore. Maybe part of him is acting out of guilt because he knows he has something to hide, but he still loves me - I can tell. _Juanita_ was a one-time thing, just a stupid mistake, and there's no need to throw away a whole marriage over a mistake.

I've been working a lot of overtime lately, and maybe he was just feeling lonely and neglected. That's probably why he's angry with the doctor right now, too. I still don't think I'll be able to _quit_ my job at the Clinic, but I'll work more moderate hours, and we'll have lots of time together, and he won't need her anymore.

Even as I start pulling at my clothes, and blushing like a shy little girl instead of an old, experienced married woman as his eyes and smile widen appreciatively, I'm trying not to consider whether or not I'd be willing to share him, if that's what it came to.

It _won't_, I tell myself firmly as he helps me into the tub, lingering a little more in certain places than _strictly_ necessary. It won't, because whatever problems we're having right now, I can fix them.

Well, I _can_.

Right?

--------------------------------------------------

End Notes: Oog. Elli still hasn't found her spine. Or maybe she has, but it's warped in strange directions that will result in a very, very angry Karen. And I think Liam's motivations for what he's doing are starting to become a little clearer, with his annoyance over Tim and Elli's friendship, and his eagerness to take care of her.


	7. Popuri

Chapter 7 – Popuri

* * *

Just _what_ is going on here?

Summer in Mineral Town is _supposed_ to be about fun,and gorgeous weather, and beach parties, and seeing my dear friends and beloved family (and Rick) for the first time in almost a year.

It's _supposed_ to be about running ourselves ragged serving the three people who ever actually come to the Seaside Lodge, and falling asleep to the sound of the waves in the double cot Zack helped us drag into the back room because Gray complained that we were _being married too loud_.

So, how is it that I barely have time to get off the boat before I find out that one of my closest friends is having Husband Trouble? And not just _normal_ Husband Trouble, but Cheating Lying Philandering Scumbag Husband Trouble?

I found out about it when I went to give Karen the special tequila she and Ann sent orders for when I told them we'd be in Mexico. She was storming around, glowering and snarling like Mineral Town just brought in Prohibition or something, so I withheld her present until she told me what was wrong.

Elli! And Liam! And some other girl! In bed! And…I don't think I meant that the way it sounded.

Why Elli? She's a sweet, fussy, caring little Florence Nightingale, she's spent her whole life taking care of everybody else, and she deserves to be _happy_ for once! And not just the _doesn't know about all the other girls her husband has on the side_ kind of happy!

So, upon finding out that the sweetest, fussiest, caringest little nurse-girl in the world is _unfathomably_ miserable right now because the man that she loves apparently doesn't return the sentiment enough to keep his clothes on around other girls, what did I do? What _any_ red-blooded Mineral Townie would do, of course! I marched right over to the farm to demand details!

And what did I find? A ghostly pale, red-eyed, skin-and-bone apparition bearing only the remotest resemblance to my third-best friend in the world? Clothes discarded everywhere and pools of the lovers' blood dripping from Elli's scalpel-turned-murder-weapon?

No, and no. I found Elli baking a pie.

Yes, a pie. _Strawberry_ pie, mind you, because she knew that I was getting back today, and she was hoping that her strawberry pie addict friend would stop by for a visit.

It was a sweet sentiment, but I love a _good _strawberry pie, and Elli's cooking…well, she can _usually_ cook pre-packaged meals and end up with something edible, which is more than I can say for my almost-sister-in-law, but when she has to do anything from scratch – say, a pie crust – well, most of Mineral Town knows to run away. Fast.

But _darnit_, she looked so happy to see me, and so proud of her masterpiece, and so interested in my travel photos that not only could I _not _satisfy forty-five minutes of burning curiosity, my stomach is making some _really_ angry noises from eating half a pie.

I haven't done _that_ since…okay, fine. It was last week. I maintain that you just haven't lived until you've had Kai's chocolate cream. He makes this amazing dark chocolate pudding from scratch, and uses lots of fresh whipped cream, and everything.

Ooh…I'm hungry.

Which I had better keep to myself, because there's still a good half a pie sitting here, heavy doughy crust and too-sugary filling and all.

Right, Elli. Elli, who has just returned with a pot of herb tea. Which she is much better at concocting than pie crust.

"Mmm," I purr happily.

"I'm glad you approve," she grins. "Just let me get the plates cleaned up - unless you wanted some more pie?" I shake my head vigorously. Forget girlfriend solidarity; I'm already getting heartburn. She looks a little disappointed, but smiles anyway. "Oh, okay; well, just let me get the dishes cleared away, and then you can show me the rest of your Brazil pictures!"

I groan inwardly. She must have some idea that I know what's going on with _her_, because as much as I'm loving this, I've never seen anyone this enthusiastic about _vacation photos_. Even Mom had to fake some enthusiasm after my fiftieth picture of trees, and beach, and Kai in swim trunks.

Hmm...maybe it's the third one that's keeping her interest. After all, as far as I know, Elli has a pulse, and Kai in swim trunks is even better than Kai in an apron.

However, I believe I have just started drooling, so maybe this isn't the best line of thought for right now.

As soon as she sets one of their sensible blue chip-resistant stoneware mugs in front of me, I take a huge gulp of the steaming, fragrant tea.

"Ow!"

"Careful," Elli giggles. "It's a little hot."

"Thanks," I pout unconvincingly, and she giggles some more.

And then, just because I don't think that all this laughing is very healthy, I go right ahead and wipe that smile right off her face.

"Elli, it's okay. You don't have to pretend to be cheerful - Karen told me about Liam's new chicky."

She looks so horrified that for a minute, I wonder if Karen got her facts wrong, and maybe Elli doesn't actually know yet.

"Oh, for crying out loud!" she wails, just as I'm about to hug her and assure her that it's a mistake, and I actually meant Liam's new _chicken_. "You just got back today, and Karen's already dumped all this on you?"

"She didn't _dump_ it on me!" I protest hotly. "I had to withhold her tequila before she told me what was wrong!"

"She still didn't have to go and _tell_ you!"

"She did if she wanted her tequila."

Elli sighs, looking pained.

"Popuri, listen. I know that Karen thinks this is a big deal, but--"

"_Karen_ thinks it's a big deal?!" I echo in a disbelieving squeak. "Elli, your husband is having an affair! What are you thinking, just pretending that you don't _know?_"

"I'm trying to tell you, sweetie," she huffs impatiently, and sighs again. "He_ was_ having an affair. But thanks to Karen and her abundance of free time to hang around here all day, I know for a fact that Liam's new _friend_ hasn't been back here since I caught them in the barn."

"They were having sex in your _barn_?!"

Curled up at Elli's feet, Liam's dog Snoopy raises his head reproachfully at my dog-whistle shriek. Elli gives him an absent little pat and a fragment of pie, and he goes back to sleep again, using her foot for a pillow.

"They were milking a cow, Popuri. And technically, it's Liam's barn."

"And _technically_, he's your _husband_, and it doesn't matter if he hasn't done it again, because he was doing it for ages before you found out!"

"We don't _know_ that it happened before then," Elli objects quickly, but she must know that she's being ridiculous, because she's staring into her teacup, and she won't look at me. "The important thing is that he hasn't done it again since, and since he didn't even know that I knew, it means he felt bad enough about doing it to stop on his own." Now she does look up, but I'm still not convinced. She looks more desperate to hear that she's right than sure that she is. "Liam was feeling neglected because I was always at work. But I talked to the doctor about cutting down on my hours a little, starting at ten and leaving at five on the dot, and ever since then things have been a lot better."

"Yeah, until he gets his panties in a twist about something else," I huff. "Come on, Elli; you can't really be telling me that you think he was_ justified_ in sleeping with some tramp--"

"We don't know that! She might be really nice!"

"--just because he didn't like your hours. If he's going to hold his faithfulness hostage every time he doesn't get his way, it doesn't sound to me like his feelings for you _or _this other girl go very deep."

"I just don't get it," she whispers, sounding so close to tears that my eyes fill before I can blink them away. "I _know_ he loved me when we got married. He must have, to put up with the mess I was. He helped me with my student loans, and Grandma's hospital and specialists' bills, and he almost never got mad when I snapped at him because I was frustrated with Stu or stressed out from trying to learn what the heck I was doing at the Clinic." Her lip wobbles a little, and I scoot my chair closer to give her a cuddle. "It's not _fair_," she tells my shoulder pitifully. "Everything's been going so well lately. We just finished paying off all the bills, and Stu is happier than he's ever been, and Grandma's legs are starting to improve. I'm finally confident enough with my work to really enjoy it, and the doctor gave me a raise last month, so I can finally start contributing instead of being totally dependent on my husband. And then _this_ comes out of nowhere and ruins everything! It seems like every time I get my life back together, something new happens."

I can't help it; I really can't. Maybe it's the pain of seeing my friend so miserable, or disappointment that I didn't get to punch his face through the back of his head as soon as his affair became common knowledge, or maybe it's just that the pie is giving me really, really bad indigestion. But whatever it is, before I know what's happening, I'm crying into Elli's shoulder, and she's patting my hair soothingly. On the bright (weird) side, I don't think she's crying, so she's pretty much sitting here, assuring me that everything will be okay, despite her creep of a husband.

"Hey, Elli! You here?"

And speaking of her creep of a husband, here he is!

At the sound of big, boot-ey, mud-tracking footsteps stopping short at the doorway, I jump away from Elli, even as she starts to tense and gets that _and I suppose you're going to scrub that mess off the floor_ look in her eye.

"Uh, should I go away?" he asks nervously, eyes moving from my tearstains to the big wet spot on Elli's shoulder.

"No, but those muddy boots should," Elli replies sternly.

He grins like a little boy being scolded by his super-hot kindergarten teacher. Well, there goes my theory about him having an affair to get away from her sometimes-incessant nagging; it looks like he still gets off on it as much as he did back when they first started dating, and he never missed a chance to earn an Elli-lecture by telling her about his steady diet of potato chips and cola.

"Sorry. I'll clean it up."

"Don't do that," she huffs, up from her chair and dragging him back to the door. "Just take them off before you come inside."

"Okay, I'm going!"

During the flurry of activity, I nibble at the remaining half of the pie (I suspect that I have subconscious self-loathing issues), and play detective, alert and ready to pick up on any tiny clue that might give me some idea how the soppy-sweetest, in-love-est guy since my Dad could just up and get bored with a girl who makes him smile like that.

I don't have long to detect; it seems that Elli isn't about to let this threat to her housekeeping go on any longer than necessary. Before I manage to pick up anything beyond the way she knocks his hand away from her butt when he tries to guide her through the kitchen doorway, they're back at the table, and Liam is patting my hand soothingly.

"What's wrong, Popuri?" he asks gently, his expression chock-full of sympathy. "It's the pie, isn't it?" He continues through my shout of laughter and Elli's shout of indignation. "I keep telling her, you don't need to cook when you're already smokin' hot--"

"Well, that's what Karen is hoping," I interject knowingly.

"--but she just doesn't listen, and my dog ends up eating way better than he should."

"It is not that bad," Elli pouts. "You didn't even try it."

"It made your friend cry," he points out solemnly.

"It's not the pie, Liam." Struck by a fiendish little inspiration that I already know is going to come back to bite me in the butt, I heave a twenty-ton sigh, as Daddy used to say. "Actually, I was just telling Elli that I think Kai might be seeing someone else."

I don't know who looks more thunderstruck: Elli or Liam.

Actually, I think the furious, frantic tinge in Elli's expression might just edge Liam out of the running, although the baffled way his mouth is hanging open deserves some serious consideration.

Liam recovers first, unless it's just that Elli doesn't trust herself to say something that _doesn't_ involve the kinds of words I always see scratched into the stalls of the train station bathrooms.

"Kai? Are you serious?"

My expression grows even more tragic.

"Well, it wouldn't be much of a joke if I wasn't."

"Yeah, I know, but..._Kai_? Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure!" I explode with all the anger I've had simmering dangerously towards this man since Karen told me about the wreck he made of Elli. "I don't get jealous and psycho over nothing -- I found her underwear all over our bedroom!"

He's starting to look nervous, but I don't know if it's from secret guilt over his own underwear-strewing side-munch, from my shouting fit, or from the waves of murderous energy rising off of his wife. But he's recovering pretty well, taking on that uncomfortable, disbelieving, sympathetic sorrow again almost before I can blink.

"Wow. I don't know what to say, Popuri." He scratches the back of his head beneath his glasses, then leans closer. "Look, I know you don't want to hear this, but guys aren't unfaithful for no reason. Usually, it means there's something wrong, and you haven't learned how to listen."

Now there's no question about who Elli's fury is for, and there sure is a lot of it. She pushes her chair back, but she's shaking so hard it takes her a few tries to stand up.

"Oh, really? So, do these guys ever stop to think that maybe it _isn't_ always a woman's responsibility to know instinctively about every tiny thing that makes their lives less than the absolute bliss they deserve just for existing? They spend enough time complaining that women expect _them_ to be psychic, that you'd think they'd show us the courtesy of just _telling_ us when they're upset. Or maybe they just don't realize how upset they are that their girlfriend won't wake them up every morning with a blow-job, or cook bacon in the nude, or prance around in degrading leather things, or quit her job to become his full-time sex slave, until that DD-cup with the twenty-four inch waist walks by. _Then_ they realize how hard-done-by they are, and jumping into bed with some tight-thonged...woman of ill repute the next town over is suddenly perfectly okay!"

I realize that I'm doing the equivalent of poking an angry bear with a sharp stick right now by trying to interrupt her, but I figure, as long as I'm on a doing-stupid-things roll, I might as well try to beat my record for The Stupidest Thing I've Ever Done.

"Um, Elli--""

"So thank-you for your startling insight, oh great relationship guru," she continues, finally managing to push out of her chair and earning a reproachful whine from Snoopy for disrupting his nap, "but we already knew that people who have affairs are generally selfish, spoilt, whiny brats who have a lot of growing up to do before they try for a relationship that doesn't come with free diaper-changes and breast feeding!"

She pulls sharply away from Liam's restraining hand at her arm, and we both watch in a stunned silence broken only by the swish of her skirts, the click of her heels on the bare painted wooden stairs, and the jarring slam of the bedroom door.

"Um...I can go," I offer lamely, scrambling out of my chair.

"Yeah, maybe that's a good idea," Liam agrees heavily, casting a nervous, reproachful glance at the closed door. Then, unexpectedly, he catches my hand and pulls me into a great big hug. "We've missed you around here, kiddo." After a few soothing pats to the back of my head, he continues. "I hope things work out with you and Kai. Just give him a break, alright? He's a good guy."

Well. I guess I should admire his sense of lying, cheating scum solidarity. Apparently, it even extends to men who AREN'T lying, cheating scum. And who does he think he is, calling me kiddo? Who's the one who's been married and traveling the world for the last two years, idiot? More importantly, between the two of us, who's been able to keep a relationship together?

I mean, I'm pretty sure there's no way she can pretend she doesn't know after taking his head off like that, especially if he talks to someone else and finds out that Kai's other woman is about as real as Ann's feminine side.

Oh, well. I may have just single-handedly destroyed a marriage - well, more like shot a few times it to put it out of its misery like a sick old horse - but at least Karen will be happy.

--

"OH, my God, Popuri. You did WHAT?"

Wow. There goes that idea; Karen actually looks kind of furious. And when Karen looks furious, in the presence of pizza and unlimited beer, you know you're in trouble.

"Um...well, I think that something I said made _Liam _say something that made _Elli _mad enough to tell him that she knows about his other girlfriend."

Now, all that made perfect sense inside my head.

"Great; so, go back to the part where _I_ have another girlfriend," Kai orders from behind the counter of the Lodge, crossing his arms and frowning.

I bite my lip. It's true: the longer you have to think about these things, the stupider they seem. I just wish _inconsiderate_ and _hurtful_ hadn't snuck in there, too.

"I'm really sorry, Kai. I just...didn't think. I wanted to see if I could make Liam nervous, and..." I really don't know how to finish that, so I just make little helpless wavy gestures.

"You couldn't have just threatened to sick your brother on him?" he grumbles, but he still lets me worm one hand in under his folded arms to give his hand a squeeze.

I lean in closer and tug slightly, nuzzling the back of his hand with my cheek, and giggle in a _completely _grown-up and dignified way when he relents and plays with my hair.

"Popuri!" Karen barks when I start purring and kind of half climbing over the counter. "Focus! Now, do you know for a fact that Elli told Liam that she knows about Juanita?"

I climb back onto my stool.

"Oh, that's her name? Juanita? That's pretty."

"Popuri," Karen growls.

"Okay, okay. I don't know if Elli told Liam that she knows. But he's not stupid, Karen. I don't know if she really has to, after that."

"Fantastic," she sighs gustily, flopping forward to the counter top and narrowly missing our pizza. "There goes two weeks of hard work."

"You mean the stalking, right?" Kai asks, forehead puckering disapprovingly.

"It's not _stalking_," she snaps.

He snorts.

"You're hanging around Liam's farm, watching him, right?"

"Sure, it sounds like stalking when you say it like _that_," Karen huffs. "But it's not. It's in Elli's best interest, because _she's_ been way too eager to overlook things."

"You think maybe she has a reason for that?" my dear sweet husband asks as one eyebrow disappears underneath his bandana.

"Honey, there's _no_ good reason for her to put herself through this," I tell him earnestly, giving his hands a squeeze.

He smiles, and squeezes back.

"There's no good reason to give someone she loves a second chance if she wants to?"

"More like a _twenty_-second chance at this point," Karen mutters sourly.

He looks mystified.

"So, if she knows that for sure, why doesn't she either talk to him about it, or leave him? Or hell, both?"

Karen sighs gustily, picking absently at her crusts.

"We were trying to wait him out, see if we could catch him in the act, and then take the evidence to the divorce hearings."

"I don't know if that's exactly what she had in mind," I pipe up timidly. "She did spend an awful lot of time talking about how it hasn't happened again."

She chuckles darkly.

"Well, he's being extra-sweet right now, since he got his way and Elli slashed her hours at the clinic."

"I wonder what it'll be next," I add, so bitterly you'd almost think _I _was married to Liam, as horrifying and gross as _that_ thought is. "Maybe she'll get a dress he doesn't like, or she won't wash his shirts right."

"You know, I'm surprised the doctor didn't put an end to this crap himself," Kai says thoughtfully. "Didn't he always have a kind of protective big brother thing for her?"

Karen snorts into her beer.

"That's not the only thing he's got for her." She heaves one of Dad's twenty-tonners. "You know, before Liam showed up, I was so worried that Elli was going to end up with Dr. Deadpan and spend her life starved for affection. Now I wish I'd just let her become Mrs. Deadpan if she wanted to instead of shoving Liam at her when he showed up and asked who the little cutie at the clinic was."

I squeeze her hand.

"Oh, Karen, you didn't know that he would turn out to be a vindictive, manipulative, dishonest rat."

"And hey, you never know," Kai adds, grinning. "If Dr. Deadpan plays his cards right, you still might get your wish."

I swear, it's creepy - he's hardly finished saying it, when the door swings open with such force that he and Karen look a little nervous, in case Dr. Deadpan himself was waiting just outside, overhearing this discussion on the possibilities of his love life.

But, since I'm being vigorously tackle-hugged, and Karen is still sitting right next to me and therefore _probably_ not doing the hugging, I really kind of doubt that it's the doctor. Even Elli just gets gentle pats on the shoulder when he's feeling especially affectionate, so him tackle-hugging _me_ would _maybe_ happen on the same day that Rick nominated Kai for President of the World.

The mystery of my mysterious attacker is cleared up pretty quick.

"Oh, Popuri, you're amazing! I wanted to throttle you a little bit at the time, but you really knew what you were doing, and now everything is going to be okay!"

"Whoa, Elli, slow down," Karen orders, prying her off of me when I start choking. "What are you talking about?"

Elli blushes sheepishly as she catches Kai's bewildered eye, and she slides quickly onto a stool and continues to sing my praises.

"She was _amazing_, Karen; she knew just what to say to get Liam and me talking to each other! After you left, he came upstairs and threatened to beat the door down unless I let him in. Then he wouldn't leave until I told him what was wrong, so I asked him if he had ever felt like I didn't know how to listen, and when he didn't answer, I asked him outright if there had ever been anyone else while we were married."

"And he told you about Juanita, and now you're leaving his sorry ass, right?" Karen asks, fixing a stern, forbidding eye on Elli, who is totally oblivious., and shakes her head vigorously.

"No, of course not! Now I don't have to, because he cared enough about me to tell me the truth!"

Kai puts down the menu he's been dangling hopefully in front of her.

"So, did you ever find out if this girl was a one-time thing?"

She hesitates.

"W-well, no; he didn't tell me exactly, _specifically_ about Juanita."

Karen doesn't waste a second.

"What, exactly, _specifically_, does that mean?" she demands, leaning forward and crowding Elli a little bit.

Elli shifts back slightly and almost falls off her stool.

"Um, I just mean, he didn't give me her name. He said there have been indiscretions in his past, but they're far in the past, and I'm all he wants now."

"And you believed him," Karen finishes flatly.

"He wouldn't _lie_ to me, Karen," Elli says quietly, but the sort of _quietly_ that usually means you could probably talk Goddess Peak into standing up and moving twenty feet to the left before you could change her mind.

Kai and I both wince as a vein begins to pop a little in Karen's right temple. Normally, it takes Duke, or her parents, or Rick (or inflation, or bill collectors, or a bug in her popcorn, or bad beer) to bring it out.

"What the hell do you think it was, not bothering to mention his other girlfriend in the first place?!" she thunders.

"I didn't ask him," Elli replies in that same quiet, determined voice. "I didn't ask him because I was afraid he _would_ tell me, and tell me that it was over between us."

"So, because he told you something _close_ to the truth when you asked him point blank, you're going to believe him when he says that he's through with the woman he didn't admit he was sleeping with in the first place."

"Yes." By this point, Elli's barely managing a whisper, but Karen can obviously see as well as I can that Elli's not budging, because I haven't seen her this mad in years.

Then, unexpectedly, Karen lunges.

I'm in mid-lunge after them, shrieking at Karen not to hurt her, and I think Kai is running around the counter, before we realize that it's a bear-hug, not a beating.

"It's your call, Elli. I'm glad it worked out. And just tell him that if he ever hurts you again, I'll make him eat his own liver."

"I'll pass it on," Elli giggles, a little bit hysterically.

"Okay. So, go back home and rock his world," Karen orders, giving Elli a little slap on the butt.

"You worry me sometimes, sweetie," Elli informs her very solemnly, before sending my hubby and me a cheerful wave and skipping out into the humid summer night.

As the door clicks shut behind her, Kai shakes his head and laughs in disbelief.

"So, you think he's actually going to stop seeing the other girl?"

"Oh, no way in Hell," Karen replies casually.

"Oww...Popuri is confused," I inform everyone, rubbing my head plaintively.

Karen sighs, exasperated.

"Come on, Popuri, you know a lie when you hear one."

I, who have, in the last six hours, told a lie big enough to count for at least a dozen, shrug guiltily.

"Yeah, but what's the point of making Elli think you trust her husband when you don't?"

"Look, you know that she's getting tired of me trailing him. This way, she doesn't have to know about it, but _I'll _still know about it the second he slips up. If he doesn't, that's great. Of course, it'd also be great if the moon was made of cheese, and Saturn's rings were a giant pizza crust, but I doubt it's the case."

"Creative," Kai notes, grinning.

"Thanks," Karen says nonchalantly, reaching for her magically refilling beer. The more Karen drinks, the more neat metaphors she comes up with, so we like to keep her glass full when she comes to visit.

"But what are you going to do if you find out that he _is_ seeing her again?" I ask, already picturing Karen in an orange jumpsuit and Liam in the graveyard as I ask.

"I don't know yet," Karen replies grimly, "but I have a feeling I'll find out."

Wow. Apparently, when Karen gets tipsy, she turns into a cheesy action movie script, too. Who knew?

--

End Notes: Aaaaaaaaaaand, there ends another awkwardly-chopped-off chapter! What can I say? These girls keep stealing the story, running away, and then writing me directly into a corner. Then, just as soon as I knock down some walls, they scamper into another corner, and before I know it, I'm guest-starring on DIY Disaster! Ahh, the perils of writing...and home rennovation. XD


End file.
